


blue lips

by somerlyn



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Come Cry With Me, Deviant Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Falling In Love, First Kisses, Fluff, Human Alice Williams (Detroit: Become Human), Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, It Gets Better, Mental Health Issues, Mutual Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self Harm, Sexual Harassment, Sexual Tension, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, alternative title: detroit: you turn everyone deviant, call cps on todd 2k19, did i lie about the slow burn??? probably, here we go again, i apologize in advance uwu, i hate sex tags and i refuse to add any until i actually get to the sexy chapters, mental breakdowns, probably, slow burn??? i think??
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-09-30 10:13:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 13
Words: 46,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17222036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somerlyn/pseuds/somerlyn
Summary: You had been doing okay for a while, just barley managing to get through the days. You were hurting, but you were coping. You were surviving.Then, after one of the worst nights of your life, you become entangled in the investigation of deviancy, and the ground is ripped out from under your feet as you find your world flipped upside down.





	1. Part I: The Victim

**Author's Note:**

> so basically after i wrote that kara/reader oneshot i couldn't get the idea out of my head and i just had to continue it and then t h i s happened so i mean- weird flex, @myself, but okay
> 
> also 'blue lips' by regina spektor is a beautiful song and honestly it was made for detroit and the fact that it wasn't included in the game makes me sad :((( but have this to make up for that uwu

You didn’t realize just how far gone you were until you’re lying on the cold hardwood floor choking on your own blood.

It’s almost funny, how you feel no fear at the thought of dying in this very spot. There’s a _very good_  that you may if you don’t manage to escape. If you weren’t getting the shit beat out of you, maybe you’d laugh.

“Stupid bitch…”

_...Ha. Ha._

It isn’t funny.

You wheeze as you're harshly kicked in the stomach, reaching out desperately to try to find something to defend yourself with, but your efforts are halted when your hand is stamped on.

You’re down, and your chances of getting back up in your weakened state are pretty slim. Your body aches, begging you to get away, but it’s hard to do anything when you’re struggling to get air in your lungs.

“You think you’re tough shit, don’t you?” he’s hissing at you, getting on top of you, grabbing you by your shirt collar.

“You fucking…” you choke out under your breath, gasping for a breath of air, “child-abusing mother _f_ _ucker_ —”

You’re yanked off the ground and slammed into one of the walls in this godforsaken house, the impact of your back against such a hard surface knocking the air out of your lungs once again.

“The fuck did you just say t'me?” he demands, and you can smell the alcohol on his breath and a hint of Red Ice. You _knew_ he was fucking on it.

You cough, trying your best to get your breathing even enough to where you’re getting enough oxygen into your system, but then you’re slapped across the face.

“Fucking _answer_ me when I talk to you, _whore._ ”

His grip on you tightens, and you feel yourself pushed higher off the floor. Fuck, everything fucking _hurts—_

More blood rises in your throat, and instead of coughing it up, you spit it at him.

_“Fuck you.”_

And then his hands are wrapped tightly around your throat, and black spots appear at the edge of your vision as you choke.

“You dumb fucking bitch,” he’s snarling at you, and as he speaks your blood drips down the side of his face. “What can you say when you’re _dead?_ ”

You’d never seen someone’s eyes look so soulless.

You were wrong before. _You don’t want to die._ Not like this. Not to _him._

_She still needs you…_

You scratch at his arms, dig your nails into his skin, kick your legs that fruitlessly hang below you, unable to push him away with your waist pinned to the wall against his weight.

It feels like someone has lit a fire inside your chest and it’s spreading to your whole body, and it fucking _hurts,_   _burns_ and  _stings,_ and you try to scream but you _can’t_ and darkness begins to spread over your vision and _oh god you don’t want to die not like this you don't want this you want to live no no no no nononononononono—_

A bang.

It stops.

You tumble to the floor once you’re released, falling onto your hands and knees, coughing violently as you greedily gasp in air for your burning lungs.

Your body slowly comes back to you, and your vision begins to clear, and then you notice a shaking figure standing in front of you.

You look up.

It’s an android.

She holds a gun in her outstretched hand. She’s shaking, breathing almost as heavily as you are, and she’s crying. The same fear that you feel you see in her eyes.

...She saved you.

A loud knock on the door snaps you out of your trance.

“Detroit Police, open up!”

Your eyes jerk backwards to the door, and you curse under your breath. What the fuck are you supposed to do? This android you’ve never even seen before just fucking saved your _life,_  went against everything in her coding and  _killed a human_ for _you._ You can’t let her get taken _apart_ —

“Go!” you whisper-yell at her, trying to get to your feet but stumbling and falling back to the ground. Fuck it, she has to get out of here.

Her eyes are wide, flickering between you and the banging against the door, and she still doesn’t move.

“Fucking _go!_ Get out of here!” you try to order her, but it sounds more like you’re begging, pleading for her to get away and get to safety. And… well, you are.

She hesitates for a second longer, and then turns and flees, rounding the corner and heading down the hallway that you know leads to the fire escape.

Biting your lip to stifle any whimpers of pain, you force yourself to your feet.

 _Fucking fuck everything to fucking hell—fuck that fucking_ hurt—

You steady yourself on the wall as you make your way to the door. You take a shaky deep breath, wiping the tears from your face and mentally preparing yourself to act like you aren’t in immense pain.

You open the door.

Two cops stand before you and there's an ambulance behind them. Their eyes grow wide as they look at you, and you know you must look like hell.

You have to cover for her.

One of them asks you something, but you can't understand exactly what he said. You try to ask him to repeat it, but your thoughts are drowned out by faint ringing in your ears, and your vision blurs as you lose feeling to the rest of your body.

You hear voices, concerned, asking if you’re okay. Feel arms around you, feel yourself being carried, somewhere…

When you open your eyes again, you’re sitting on something cool, and there’s a blanket around your shoulders held in place by a pair of gentle hands.

“Hey…”

An EMT stands in front of you, and although your vision isn’t completely clear, you can make out the flashing lights of cop cars from behind her.

“...Stay with me,” she says to you, and you direct your unfocused gaze back to her, “just focus on me.”

She asks you a few questions, if your chest hurts, if you’re having trouble breathing, examines you, and starts treating some of the worst of your wounds. You’re barely there though, not being able to comprehend what just happened and what’s happening right now. Your head _aches,_  and trying to think too hard about anything just causes the pain to flare up.

By the time one of the officers that showed up at your door approaches you, you’re in a bit of a clearer state of mind and able to actually form coherent thoughts.

“Hello, miss,” he says your last name, “are you in a position to answer a few questions about what happened here tonight?”

You hug the blanket closer to yourself. It's cold. You know you might as well answer now, because if you don't, you'll just have to do it later. “Yeah. I can do that.”

He introduces himself as Officer Miller, and despite all the chaos you’ve been through tonight, you actually feel rather at ease with him. He speaks slowly and calmly, and when you answer one of his questions with “I don’t know", he trusts you and moves on.

“I came to visit my cousin and when he said she ran off and he just _let_ her, I… I just snapped. We got into a fight, and he was high on Red Ice and probably drunk too, and…” you had explained to him, your voice getting caught in your throat. “I didn't _mean_ to do it. I was just defending myself.”

Yeah, you lied. You used to think androids were simply machines that weren’t capable of emotion, but as time went on your doubts grew, and tonight you got a firsthand experience of an android that clearly _did_ _feel._ You couldn’t tell them that she did it. Not after she saved you.

God, the way she was staring at you when you yelled at her to leave, the _look_ in her eyes, she…

She looked so _human._

You’re brought back to the present when you catch a flash of blue in your peripheral vision heading towards you, and when you look to see what it is, your heart stops.

Another android, but nothing like the one who saved you. He’s tall, clad in a pristine suit and jacket, and when his dark eyes meet yours, you quickly have to avert your gaze from the intensity of his stare.

 _He’s with the police_.

You’re so screwed, the android who saved you is so screwed, everything is so _screwed,_ you just _tried_ to do _the right thing_  why is this _happening—_

A gruff looking man pulls Officer Miller aside, muttering something to him before walking off, and your stomach sinks to your feet.

He turns around, giving you a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry,” he says to you, and _fuck_ you really _fucked_ yourself this time, didn’t you, “but you’re gonna have to come with me to the precinct. You already gave me your statement, but we need to get it officially.”

 _Fuck_.

You know it's not just that. It's never as simple that simple. That man and that android are onto you. They know something.

Gradually, you pull yourself up, lying the shock blanket on the floor of the ambulance. You're tempted to take it with you, but you know in the long run it’s not going to save you from the feeling of impending doom that’s slowly overtaking you.

Officer Miller opens the door to his squad car for you, and, dully resigned, you climb in and sink into the seat.

As he puts the keys in the ignition and starts the car, you can’t help but look out the window, watching watch as your uncle is brought out into a body bag and carried away. You watch until the lights from the cop cars become a haze of red and blue, and then all you're left with is the soft pattering of rain that starts just as you begin your drive and your thoughts. Your dumb fucking _thoughts_.

It's only now, in the back of a cop car and being taken to the Detroit Precinct, the realization of what just occurred dawns on you.

Todd Williams is dead. Gone forever. Killed by a mystery android that saved your life that you lied to cover for. You have _no idea_ where Alice is, or if you’ll ever even see her again. As much as you hate to think about it... she may not even be alive anymore.

Yeah, you've  _really_ fucked up this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> adkhjfhgfsh im finna try to update this pretty regularly at least until there's a few chapters so the story is set up  
> also can we please make call cps on todd 2k19 a tag?? nifty and thanks


	2. The Interrogation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy new year ya'll twenty-gay-teen may be over but now it's time for twenty-bi-teen let's get it

You never really could entirely grasp the concept of love.

You knew there were two people that you could say you really loved, but when it came to romantic relationships, you couldn’t really understand.

You knew it must be a nice feeling. Sometimes you wished you could get into something serious like that and experience it for yourself, instead of your shallow crushes and infatuations every now and then. None of them ever led to anything, and you always knew you would lose interest eventually. You had never really been in love.

Anne was the closest thing to a mother figure you ever got. And although she was completely in love with Todd up until she left, he was never a father figure to you. Back then, he was... kind of like a friend. Someone you’d hang around with in high school every now and then. But as he got worse and worse and you started to see the real side of him, you hated him more and more.

But, despite the way he treated her, Anne was still enraptured with him. Even when he put her down, blatantly insulted her, manipulated her, fought with her, threw things at her, and… eventually beat her. Without fail, she still loved him.

...Why?

You had asked her about it once. Asked her why she stayed with him, why she forgave him for all the shit that he put her through, why she still chose him when she knew there were so many great guys out there that she could get with if she wanted to.

“It’s simple,” she had said to you, a smile on her face that you couldn’t decide was happy or rueful, “I love him.”

You gave her a look, and she ran a finger around the rim of the glass of her drink. “Even if he can lose control of his temper sometimes, and says some pretty… _unpleasant_ things, he doesn’t mean any of it. I know that’s not the real him. He has a good heart.”

You stirred the straw in your water, watching the liquid swirl in a circle around the plastic. Maybe she was right; maybe Todd was good at heart. _Maybe._ But he sure as hell did _not_ act like it.

You would’ve believed that if she told you it far earlier on in their relationship. He was always kind of off-putting to you, but maybe that was just you and your aversion to men like him. Even though he was irritating and rude at times, he would come through for you when you needed him, unexpectedly enough.

But that soon stopped, too.

You would often cry around Anne, as you let your guard down around her, and because Todd lived in the house, he would subsequently walk in on you weeping into her shirt. He would always sit with you, awkwardly patting you back while Anne did the real comforting, but it was something. It showed you he cared. But as the layers of his personality begun to peel back and his true colors started to show through, he would start to mock you when you got into tears.

You stopped going to Anne for consolation when you knew Todd was around. Which, was actually pretty much _all the time,_ and you think that was the start of your more physically self destructive habits after you tried to keep it all inside.

Despite the very few fond memories you had of him in the rare moments he was or, more accurately,  _seemed_ nice, you still hate him for what he did. You hate him for what did to Anne, what he did to Alice, and…

What he did to you.

You and Anne used to be so happy. You were like sisters. A small but happy family. And Alice would’ve fit right in, too.

So, why…

Why do you feel a strange sense of sadness now that he’s dead? Why do you feel so guilty that it was indirectly your fault?

It’s the same thing. Anne still loved him even despite all the shit he did, and while you don’t love him by _any means_ , you still…

You still care about him. For whatever fucking reason. Maybe because he was the closest thing to a father figure you ever really had, even though you didn’t at all consider him to be one. Maybe because you used to think he was good, and you still want to hold onto that him that you knew. You didn’t want to see the real him, to accept what he did. Maybe you didn’t want to lose someone else again.

It makes you sick to your stomach to think about it.

Love is weird, that way. True, unadulterated love is unconditional. No matter what they do, if they hurt you, if they hurt someone else, if they commit a crime, if they cheat, if they curse at you and hit you—hell, even if they _murdered_ someone, you still love them. Even if you don’t agree with their actions, at the end of the day,  you still love them.

And that’s just something you can’t _understand._ You don’t know if you ever will. But you certainly aren’t going to figure it out sitting in the back of a cramped cop car being taken in for questioning.

You know that. But all you can do is  _t_ _hink_ with nothing else to distract you from all that you were forced to face tonight.

You reach the precinct all too soon. It still feel so surreal, stepping out of the police car and following Officer Miller inside.

“Don’t worry,” he tells you as he leads you to a small interrogation room, opening the door for you, “just tell them exactly what you told me, okay?”

You have the urge to just push him out of the may and make a run for it. He’s not holding on to you, he wouldn’t be expecting it. You could probably get pretty far—

No. You know you can’t. The bigger, rational part of yourself wants to beg him to stay, to just let you talk to him, you’ve lost so much so fast and you just feel alone and you’re scared, and—

You manage a numb nod. You hear him leave but don’t watch him, slowly stepping into the colorless room and taking a seat on a rather uncomfortable chair (that doesn’t do _anything_ to help with the ache in your entire body, for the record) directly across from a giant mirror that makes you shove your hands into your lap and keep your eyes down. You know they're watching you. You've seen this before.

It doesn’t take long for the door to open again.

Instead of the android you saw earlier, it’s his partner. The one who had pulled Officer Miller aside originally.

You’re not sure whether you're relieved at this or even more apprehensive. He takes a seat in front of you with a sigh.

“I’m Lieutenant Anderson,” he introduces himself in a monotone voice, repeating your name back to you. “In your own words, can you tell me exactly what happened tonight?”

 _Don’t worry, just tell them exactly what you told me, okay?_ Officer Miller had told you. You need to remember to keep your story straight.

“I got a call from my cousin, Alice,” you begin, gritting your teeth as you’re forced to recall the entire event from the beginning, “she was hysterical.”

_“Please, I don’t know what to do, I’m scared—”_

_“Calm down, Alice,” you told her, already out the door with your car keys in hand, “I need you to stay calm for me, okay?”_ _  
_

_“O-Okay, I’m calm,” she said, her voice shaky, and you heard distant yelling that was definitely Todd’s._

“She said Todd had gotten mad at her for some stupid reason, and he was trying to hurt her. I told her to get something to defend herself and hide, and that I would be right over.”

_“Where are you?” you asked, slamming your car door and shoving the keys into the ignition._

_“I’m upstairs,” she murmured, obviously trying to keep the tears out of her voice. You jerkily pulled out of your driveway, and started a speed that was mildly above the limit. But you didn’t care. You had to get to Todd’s._

_“Get in a closet, and lock the door,” you instructed, “and grab one of the hangers and bend it out of shape in case you need to defend yourself.”_

“She… we didn’t talk for very long, because she suddenly hung up after she told me she was going to hide. I know I heard Todd’s voice. He was definitely drunk, and I’m almost positive he was high on Red Ice.”

_“I’m going,” she told you, “but there’s—”_

_Before she could finish, Todd’s voice cut her off._

_“There you are, you little brat.”_

_His voice was muffled through the phone speaker, but you could still hear the anger in his voice, and the slight slur in his words. There was no way he was sober. And if your suspicions were right, it was much more than just alcohol._

_Alice gasped, tried to say your name, but stopped._

_“Hold on, baby, I’m almost there,” you said hurriedly, but there was no response. You made a sharp right turn, “...Alice?!”_ _  
_

_You pulled your phone back._

_She hung up._

_“Fuck,” you said out loud, fear winding a coil in your stomach so tightly you thought you may be sick. You needed to get there._ Now.

You drop your gaze to the table, unable to look at the Lieutenant any longer, in fear that you may start crying.

“When I got there, she was gone. Todd said she ran away.”

_You bursted through the doors._

_“Alice?!” you called, slamming the door behind you and frantically searching the room, “Alice—...”_

_You paused when you saw that state of everything—a lamp was knocked over and broken, the kitchen table was pushed against the wall and the chairs around it were on the floor._

_You slowly walked inside, rounding the corner and pausing when you saw Todd standing next to the back door, his back to you and his shoulders hunched._

_“Alice…” you whispered, taking a few more steps forward. “What the fuck did you do?!”_ _  
_

_You lunged for him, trying to push him in the wall, hitting your hands against his chest. It wasn’t very powerful, probably, but you were weakened by the hopelessness and despair that began to overtake you._

_“Where is she?!” you screamed, “what did you_ do—?!”

_You stumbled backwards as his fist collided with your head._

_“Fucking brat took off,” he said as you held onto where he punched you with your hand, staring at the floor, unblinking. “Just like her whore mother.”_ _  
_

“And then…” you bring your gaze up, not able to give the man in front of you any eye contact, but focus on his folded hands on the table instead. “We got into a fight.”

_“You just let her go?!” you demanded, springing towards him again, but this time he catches you by the shoulders and roughly pulls you back._

_“Of course I fucking didn’t—” he started, his voice rising, and you knew how violent he got when he got when he was mad and he obviously wasn’t in the best state of mind right then anyway, considering what happened, but you didn’t care._ He did this.

 _“You didn’t_ stop _her!” you yelled, and you started to cry. You didn’t mean to, but sometimes when you get so worked up you tear up against your will. You hate it. “She ran away because of you, you fucking piece of shit! You did this! FOR THE SECOND TIME THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT—”_

_He hit you again. Harder._

_He said something else as he swung for you a second time, but you weren’t listening. You managed to duck out of the way just at the right time._

_“I knew it,” you said, causing him to stop if only briefly, “I fucking knew it this whole time, and I…”_

_You never did anything._

_“I’m gonna tell everyone,” you told him through as you sidestepped him to head for the door, “I’m gonna tell them all how you get off to hitting your own daughter—”_

_He hit you again, and this time you fell to the ground. This time..._

_You didn’t get back up._

“I tried to fight back, but… he was so much bigger than me. He started choking me, and…” you trail off, your eyes widening as you say the words out loud.

“He was going to kill me…” you all but whisper, somehow only realizing it now. He was going to kill you. He was _really going to kill you._

Your own uncle…

You knew he was fucked up, but…

Fuck, he was really going to _kill you._

Finally, you manage the courage to look Lieutenant Anderson in the eyes. His face is stony and hard to read, but he’s looking at you intently, eyebrows slightly knitted together, and you know he feels _something_.

“I had to do it,” you say quietly, looking deep in his icy eyes for any trace of doubt in them, “I didn’t _mean_ to kill him. I just wanted to get him off of me. I had taken the gun he always kept in the house and then I shot him.”

He eyes you carefully, shifting back in his seat slightly. “Why didn’t you call the police when you first got the call?” he asks you, and you feel slightly relieved that _that’s_ what he’s asking about rather than… anything else.

“It wasn’t the first time Alice called me and said that Todd was hurting her,” you admit, the slightest sense of guilt creeping up on you, “I called CPS on him once, a while ago. But they didn’t do anything. I knew I had to do it myself.”

He’s quiet for a few more beats, and then clicks his tongue quietly, leaning forward onto the table again and you know he believes you.

You’re out of the woods, you think. Just a little bit more…

“Listen, kid,” he says, and his tone makes you freeze, “you and I both know you didn’t kill him.”

_Fuck._

You quickly mask your surprise and fear with confusion. “...What?”

“There was no gun in that entire house.” He tilts his head, narrowing his eyes at you. “And I know you don’t have a gun on you, either.”

_What? Thats—_

_No_. He _is_  right. The android saved you, then shot Todd, and when she ran...

She _took the gun with her._

Fuck, how could you forget that?

You stay silent, not sure what to say. What _can_ you say? You’ve been caught in the middle of your lie. What can you even say without changing your story to get out of this?

“There was someone there with you,” he says, and you struggle to continue to look at him, “who was it?”

“There was no one there with me,” you answer automatically, and you know that obviously wasn't the right choice but _fuck_ you don’t know what else to say, and to be honest you’re about ten more minutes of intense stress away from completely breaking down.

He raises his eyebrows. “Not even an android?”

You want to scream.

“Not even an android.”

You’re surprised with how steady your voice sounds. You can feel sweat beginning to gather in your palms, but you keep them in your lap, not faltering.

He stares at you for a few seconds longer, waiting to see if you’ll say anything else, and you guess he realizes you’re not going to, because he sighs and pushes the chair back and stands.

“Well, can’t say I didn’t try,” he mutters, and he turns to leave.

As soon as the door shuts, a slight bit of relief runs through you, and you relax your tense shoulders, taking a deep breath in. But you know they’re not done with you yet, if what Lieutenant Anderson said was anything to go by. 

Every part of you hurts and you just want to lie down and _sleep_.

And then the door opens again.

Your heart stops. You stop breathing.

It’s the android from before.

The one with brown eyes and one of the most intense stares you’ve ever seen.

And now he’s sitting right in front of you, with a manilla folder in his hands.

 _Breathe,_ you tell yourself, trying to at least calm down physically. He’s an android, and a detective one at that, and you know he can pick up on signs of bodily stress.

There’s no way this is fair. You’re no match up against him.

You guess… that’s what Lieutenant Anderson was referring too.

You really just should’ve told him the truth.

But nonetheless, you still find yourself gathering courage from the fact you have no regrets over protecting the android that saved you. You won’t tell them about her. After what she did, that’s the least you can do.

“Hello,” he greets you, and you have to keep yourself from stiffening at the smoothness of his voice. “My name is Connor. What’s yours?”

You know he already knows it. Lieutenant Anderson did, so he must too. But you repeat it anyways.

He says your name back to you in that _voice_ of his, and your resolve is cracking. You really want to run.

He lists of your birthday, your age, and—

“...And an ex CyberLife employee,” he finishes, and you ball your hands into fists.

_How did he even…_

You suddenly know what’s in that folder—it must be your records.

Shit, how did he even _find_ that? He would’ve had to dig really, _really_ far. 

He opens the folder, pulling out a picture of a domestic android. Specifically, the android who saved you.

“Recognize it?” he asks, almost mockingly, “an AX400, registered to reside in the exact house where the murder occurred. But, when we arrived, it had disappeared.”

_Todd had an android?_

You didn’t even know. And to think _his_ android was the one who saved you…

“You felt pity for that android, didn’t you?” he questions, and you resist the urge to rake your hand through your hair. This is all too much for you to process right now. “You worked with them for so long, of course you would get attached.”

You stay silent, biting back the anger that’s begun to gather inside of you from the way he talks like he _knows_ you and everything about you because he most definitely _doesn’t._

“You did not commit this crime, did you?” he prompts, taking out another picture. But this one’s even worse. 

It’s Todd’s dead body with a bullet wound square in the center of his back, lying on the floor surrounded by blood.

You suppress the urge to be sick.

“The wall he collapsed in front of had dents that would suggest a human body was thrown against it. The measurements of which matched your own.” He points a finger at the wall you were choked against, and you can clearly see marks of where your body had hit it. “If what you told the Lieutenant is true, then there would be no way for you to have shot him from your position. And even if that was a lie, the trajectory of the blood from the bullet proved that it was shot from the other side of the room. The precise location of the bullet would be impossible or _very difficult_ for a human to have fired from such a distance.”

He leans forward, those dark brown eyes of his boring into your own. You’re trapped, a prey caught by a predator, and you’re about to be consumed.

“Tell me what _really_ happened,” he almost whispers, his sugary voice sounding like the devil inviting you into hell. At such a close proximity, you can see the freckles sprinkled across his flawless skin.

“I _did_ ,” you force yourself to hiss instead of whimpering, because that’s what you feel like doing right about now. You fucking need your meds.

“There is no use in protecting this android. Deviants do not feel human emotion, only mimic it. It is likely that this AX400 malfunctioned due to the stress of the chaos around it.”

“Why does any of that _matter?"_ you finally snap, but you’re not too sure you care anymore. You’re fucked in this situation anyway. It doesn’t matter what you do. “Todd was _abusing_ Alice, and whether I killed him or the next person did, it doesn’t _matter_ _!_ He _deserved it._ He’s dead now, and what _matters_ is that he can’t hurt her anymore and that we _need_ _to_ _find_ _Alice_.”

You exhale shakily from your outburst, and notice that Connor’s still staring at you the same way he was before. Unmoving, uncaring, un _feeling._

“That would be much easier if you would simply confirm—”

The android who saved you may have been able to feel, but this one clearly doesn't. He’s just a machine. Designed to accomplish a task. Which is too bad for him, because you’re going to prevent him from doing exactly what he was made to do.

“I’m not confirming _shit,_ ” you say, leaning forward towards _him_ this time, rivaling his intense, accusatory glare.

He stares at you for a moment longer, and this time you’re able to stare back.

Then he pulls back, although never breaking eye contact with you until he turns to the door. "I’m done,” he says simply with a glance to the mirror, his skin disappearing when he flattens his hand against the scanner and steps out.

You’re alone again.

You’re _know_ they’re coming back. They haven’t got what they want yet.

Fuck, you just want to get drunk. You were able to forget the pain (or block it out) for a little while during the stress of being interrogated, but now that you’re out of immediate distress your head hurts even more and the tense state you’ve been in for about the past thirty minutes makes the pain all the worse.

You find yourself looking back up in the mirror, uncaring if whoever's on the other side will see you. You pointedly didn’t look at yourself the one time you did glance at the mirror because you knew it would just make you more anxious, but now that you do, you cringe at the state of yourself.

There’s a huge, ugly bruise on the right side of your face, a small cut on your bottom lip, and a gash at the top of your head where you had been hit. You tilt your head up when you notice red marks on your neck, and immediately regret it, but endure the discomfort anyway when you see the outline of Todd’s hands on your throat. It’s bruised too, and it hurts like hell.

It’s gonna take forever to heal.

You imagine the bruises and cuts under your clothes are even worse, but you decide not to look until you get home. Well, _if_ you get home.

Can’t they just _hurry up_ already?

And then the doors open again, and this time it’s Officer Miller.

Even though you know you’re not in the clear and it’s most likely going to get _much_ worse from here, you almost collapse in relief upon seeing him again. He’s the only one during this whole ordeal that seems to be on your side and genuinely care about you.

“Come on,” he says, beckoning for you to stand, “I told you it would all be fine.”

You do stand, but don’t follow him when he begins toward the door. “What?” you ask, completely lost, “what do you mean?”

He turns back to you, pausing momentarily. “You acted in self defense. Hank and Connor just confirmed it.”

Hank? Oh, that must be Lieutenant Anderson.

Wait, what did he just say?

Shocked, you to follow him out in a stupified trance. There’s no way… that…

What the _fuck?_

This isn’t right. There has to be something behind this, some sort of catch, you—

All of your thoughts stop when you lock eyes with Connor, who’s standing beside Lieutenant Anderson—or, Hank, you guess… but you aren’t really comfortable calling him that. This time, he isn’t looking at you with accusation in his eyes. It’s not a glare, and he doesn’t look mad or irritated or like he’s trying to pick you apart, it’s just…

Bewilderment. Confusion. That’s what it looks like, at least. It’s like he’s searching for something within you, some kind of answer that you’re not sure you can give.

Whatever it is, whatever _this_ is…

You definitely don’t understand, either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh btw if i wasn't clear enough anne is alice's mother sorry for not clarifying that earlier hfjkdhsfkjdh  
> smh im finna try to update this at least by tomorrow if i don't get it done during the all nighter im finna pull tonight goodnight kiddos


	3. Resting Period

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay big warning for mentions of self harm in this chapter

Your life wasn’t a battle you asked to fight.

You don’t really remember a time you were truly happy. You had happy moments, yeah. You cherished those. But at the back of your mind, there was always that edging sadness that would invariably pull you away and back to the numbness you were used to.

Maybe it was genetic. Maybe it was that your mom never payed attention to you, or that your dad was never really around, or that after he remarried and his wife didn’t care for you, he didn’t care for you either. Maybe it was seeing your sister cry for the first time when she told you mom had passed away, or maybe it was seeing her slowly wilt away after until she slit her wrists in the bathtub and bled out. Maybe it was never ever really getting the attention that you were denied for so long and always craving more, or the irresistible urge to harm yourself and slowly getting more and more bold with your methods of doing so. Maybe it was knowing you’d be kicked out of your house as soon as you were eighteen, and you had to be completely self-reliant or you wouldn’t make it in the world.

Maybe it was all of it.

You were doing alright, for a little while. The pain was still there, but you were getting better at self-medicating. You had always been close with Anne, and after your mom died, she moved close to you. She became the parents that were never there for you, and the sister that died far too soon. She would pick you up when you fell down, and would help you get back on your feet again. She was your rock, your only constant, the only one you truly trusted.

She was what kept you alive for all of those years.

When she found out you were drinking, she wasn’t nearly as mad as you thought she’d be. She said it was a much better than some of the alternatives, and you were careful to never let her see your arms, your stomach, or your thighs.

Sometimes, you think she may have knew, or suspected. But she never said anything.

She picked up on your suicidal tendencies from the way you recklessly lived your life—drinking way too much and intentionally walking across the street before the light was green, just to see if you’d get hit by someone who didn’t bother to slow down. She would tell you that, when you wanted to drink, she’d prefer for you to do it at her house, that way she could watch over you and make sure you didn’t do anything stupid.

She didn’t care that you drank when you were underage. Either that, or she knew she couldn’t afford to get you help, and it would be even worse if you got in trouble, especially if your parents found out. When you were older, she would often drink with you.

You had developed plenty of ways to numb out the pain. Everything still fucking sucked, and every morning it was _so hard_ to get up, but you were making it. You just kept going. You were just barely holding yourself together and you were afraid that if you let yourself break, you wouldn’t be able to pick up all the pieces and put them back together again.

You clearly remember the night when just that happened. The one where you were just so _mad_ , so fed up with everything and the way you were treated and how _unfair_ it all was that you had to deal with all this shit. The night when you broke down in your bathroom sobbing with the door locked and punched the mirror because you _hated_ what you saw. You marked yourself up with the glass and then continued breaking things just out of your sheer frustration. You were so, _so_ done.

Nothing mattered to you, at that point. You just wanted it all to stop.

When you fought with your parents about the damages and ran out before they had the chance to kick you out, Anne took you in. At that point, Todd and her were in the earlier stage of their relationship, and she let you stay with her.

That wasn’t the lowest low you’ve ever had, but at the time it definitely felt like it. After that, you don’t think you ever fully recovered. The option of just disappearing had been imbedded in your mind, and when you came so close to the taste of it you couldn’t help but think how _easy_ it would be. You thought about it before, but never considered it seriously. After that night, you did.

You never fully put yourself back together, after that. 

You went on for a while, for Anne. And then for Alice, too. But when Anne left, you…

You basically let yourself go. You knew you had to be there for Alice, and you tried your best to be, but Todd was just _so much_ to deal with, especially after you lost the one person who had truly cared for you for your whole life. She was all you ever had.

And then the visits stopped.

You just couldn’t bring yourself to do it anymore. You knew you were being selfish, but you didn’t find it in yourself to really care.

That’s when you started to actively try to push yourself towards death.

Drinking almost every night and occasionally smoking, eating less and less and intentionally getting yourself into risky situations and just being so utterly reckless.

You didn’t know where you were going. You didn’t know how to get out of the rut you had fallen in. You didn’t really know anything, anymore.

You’ve had a hell of a night that has really put things into perspective for you. It was your wake-up call. But, now, in the aftermath…

You only want to die even more.

You let the single most important thing alongside Anne slip through your fingers. _Again._

And now you’re all alone, your only salvation being the android who saved you. An AX400. And you’ll be damned if you’re going to give that up, too.

You know you’re going to fight for it until very end, but you have a terrible feeling that it’s not going to matter. That, in the end, your savior is going to get caught and killed all because of you.

You just want to go to sleep for a while. Maybe forever. You’re just so _tired_ of fighting.

You may have escaped getting arrested (at least, for now), but in its place, you’re put under the supervision of Connor. Is that worse? Maybe. All you know is that you’re not going to sleep very well tonight.

Hank (Lieutenant Anderson? It’s still a little uncomfortable calling him by his first name but you’re tired and his full title is just a mouthful) leads you to his car, Connor following close behind. He also opens the door for you, and although you know his persona during the interrogation was all an act in an attempt to get you to talk, it’s still a rather jarring change.

You begrudgingly give Hank your address, not really liking the idea of them knowing exactly where you live and being able to come there _anytime,_ but what choice do you really have?

The car ride is mostly quiet, Hank and Connor talking idly some of the time, but not that often. You’re partially thankful for the break from the sensory overload, but on the other hand, it doesn’t give you a distraction from your thoughts.

Sometimes, you really wish your mind would just shut up.

When Hank pulls into the driveway of your house, after everything that’s happened tonight, the sight of it almost feels foreign. But it’s also immensely comforting at the same time. You reach for the door handle, but pause when Connor doesn’t move and Hank leans in towards him.

“Behave, got that?” he says, pointing a fatherly finger in Connor’s face, and Connor’s expression almost looks like one of a reprimanded child. "She’s been through hell. Try to not make her blood pressure skyrocket through the roof.”

“Got it,” Connor repeats, almost… brightly? Hopeful? It’s weird to you, nothing like you’ve seen of him so far. But, you’d be lying if you said you couldn’t get used to this side of him.

“Remember, seven o’clock sharp. Don’t be late,” Hank tells Connor, but also throws a glance back at you. You almost forgot that you have to return to the precinct tomorrow. You suppress a heavy sigh. Dealing with all of this is just too much…

Connor says something else to Hank, but you’re already stepping out of the car. It’s still raining, but at this point, you’re beyond caring about that too. As soon as you step down, a sharp pain shoots through your body and you curse under your breath, forcing yourself to continue your trek towards your house.

“Are you alright?” you hear Connor’s voice from beside you, but you don’t look because you know it’ll hurt your neck, so you just keeping going.

“Fine,” you answer. Maybe if you keep telling yourself that, you’ll believe it eventually.

You dig out your keys from your pocket, shoving them into the doorknob, but as you try to twist it, it gets wet from the rain and you keep losing your grip, not to mention your hands are shaking.

After a few failed tries you give up, banging your hand against the door in frustration and immediately regretting it.

“Fuck,” you hiss, holding your pulsing hand in your other. Why did you do that? You’re so dumb.

“May I?” Connor asks, looking at you for permission before making a move. He could’ve just done it, he didn’t have to _ask…_

“Sure,” you say, your voice coming out a little bit sharper than you intended because of the ache in your fist. And, to be honest, your whole fucking body. You just want to get _inside._

As if it’s the easiest thing in the world, Connor twists the key in the bottom lock and then does the same for the top in two swift motions. You can’t help but glare at him, and, after opening the door, he notices.

“Did I do something wrong?” he asks, but you just step around him and enter your house. Stupid, perfect androids.

Connor comes in after you, closing the door and locking it. You slip your shoes off as to not get the rest of your house wet, but who are you kidding, it’s already a complete mess. And, despite knowing Connor’s not going to judge you—it’s not like he really can, anyways—it still gives you a twinge of embarrassment for him to have to see your living space like this.

You’re such a mess.

You lead him up to your room, grabbing a towel for him as well as yourself. When you give it to him, he looks confused.

“Dry yourself off,” you say, wrapping your own towel around you, “if you’re gonna be staying the night, you’re not going to sleep on my bed like that.”

“Androids do not sleep,” he calls you by your last name.

“You know what I mean,” you reply, grabbing a change of clothes, “just… call me by my first name, please.”

“Alright,” he says your name back to you, and you find you like the sound of that in his voice much better.

He begins to dab at his clothes with the towel, albeit a little awkwardly, which you stifle a laugh at. You leave the room to go into the bathroom so you at least have a moment to gather yourself while you change.

You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, a feeling of dread overtaking you. If you’re lucky, you could mostly cover the bruise on your face with makeup and maybe the marks on your neck, but… that gash on your forehead isn’t going to be easily concealed, and neither is the cut on your lip. Hell, if you’re being honest with yourself, either way it’s still going to be evident that you got the shit beaten out of you.

How are you supposed to go to work like this? _Are_ you even going to go to work tomorrow? Not for the morning, at least, and you’re guessing there’s a lot more waiting for you. You’re gonna have to call in. But what the hell are you supposed to say? You got beat up by your abusive uncle trying to help your little cousin who's now missing and almost died but got saved by an android and you almost got arrested because you covered for her?

Yeah, you're gonna have to think of something else for that.

Eager to get out of your soaking clothes, you pull off your shirt over your head slowly, letting yourself ease into the pain of your aching muscles. As soon as you get it off, you can clearly see the damage done to your stomach.

It looks like someone just repeatedly hit you with a baseball bat. You already bruise easily in general, which just makes it all the worse. Well, at least it takes attention away from your other cuts.

You can’t look at it for too long.

Next to go are your pants, and even though you try not to look, you can’t help but examine the bruises all over your legs. They’re especially bad around your knees and the front of your calves, and you know waking up tomorrow is going to be painful.

Normally, you wear just a long, loose shirt to bed, but since this time you have a _guest,_ you decide to settle on a pair of comfortable leggings as well. You slip them on carefully, making sure not to press against any of your injures too hard. You lie them over the side of your bathtub to dry along with your wet shirt, and then you grab the dry one to pull over your body, but pause when you hear the doorknob turn.

Of course, now’s the exact moment Connor decides to walk in.

You want to say something, get mad, but then you see his gaze drift to your stomach and then your arms and your thighs and at all your bruises and scars and you suddenly feel completely vulnerable.

“I apologize, I didn’t mean to intrude,” he says in a low voice, actually sounding genuine. “You are in a mentally unstable state and considering your habits of self harm I cannot leave you alone.”

...You guess he probably would’ve found out at some point.

“It’s fine,” you murmur, continuing to pull your shirt over your head. The way he talks about something like that in such a dull voice _really_ rubs you the wrong way but you try not to let it get to you. It’s not his fault. He’s not alive. Not like that.

He steps out of the way for you and you return to your bedroom. You almost collapse onto your bed, but think doing that would probably do your body more harm than good, so you settle for just sitting down on the edge for the moment.

Your gaze drifts to a blood-stained razor blade you left out on the dresser.

Ah. So that’s how he knew originally. You guess seeing your cuts just confirmed his suspicions.

That’s one way to leave a first impression.

Connor enters and closes your door for you, gently and quietly, carrying a cloth, and... a towel that’s wrapped around something. You see where this is going.

“Oh hell no,” you say out loud as he sets the supplies on the table next to your bed. He cocks his head at you. “See, this is what we’re not gonna do, Connor. I already had them taken care of.”

“Your injuries are quite severe,” he notes, “if you leave them untreated, they will only be more painful and have a higher chance of getting infected.”

“Your point?” you bring your knees up, placing your legs on the bed and trying to recline yourself backwards, but Connor catches your wrist.

“I’m sorry, but I cannot let you take that risk.” He rights you, and your legs tumble over the side of the bed and back onto the floor. Ouch. “You are valuable to this investigation and such inconveniences would interfere in solving it.”

“ _That’s_ why you didn’t arrest me, huh?” you mutter, a sardonic smile spreading across your face. It makes sense now. They’re going to use you and then throw you away when they’re done.

By that time, you hope you at least have Alice back.

“You have information that is crucial to the deviancy case,” he says simply. Of course. You should’ve known…

You thought you could escape this life. You _really_ tried. But, you guess no matter how far you run, you can’t ever really escape your past.

Why did you even make those stupid decisions in the first place?

Connor picks up the damp cloth he brought in, folding it and bringing it up to your face.

“This may feel unpleasant,” he warns you, and then begins to dab the soft material on the cut on your head.

You hiss, instinctively pulling away, but Connor’s free hand finds your shoulder and keeps you in place. His touch is gentle, which you appreciate, because you know if he grabbed you too hard it would hurt even more.

Your eyes flicker to his face that’s completely devoid of emotion, the only indication of what he’s thinking being the LED on his temple that flickers between blue and yellow as he focuses on cleaning you up. You know the tenderness in which he handles you with is just not to injure you further, not because he actually cares about you or anything like that, but…

The idea is nice.

The pain ebbs away as he continues to dab at some of the cuts on your stomach, and applies whatever-the-hell-kind-of-spot-treatment-you-had-in-your-cabinets. You feel exposed, with him looking at all your cuts and your scars, but you have to remind yourself that he just saw you half naked in the bathroom, so what does it _really matter?_

_He doesn’t feel, anyway._

When he’s done, the cloth is covered in your blood, even though you weren’t really bleeding anymore. Most of it’s dry, but it still serves as a reminder of how hard Todd beat you.

And now he’s dead.

Before you can reminisce over your feelings, a cold stinging sensation on your stomach makes you see a flash of white.

You look down to see Connor pressing the towel against your stomach, and realize it’s wrapped in ice. Oh, for fu—

“This will ease some of the discomfort, as well as reduce swelling,” he relays to you, but you just try to push him away.

“Come on, I just want to sleep…”

He doesn’t move. “I can continue to treat your injuries while you rest.”

You sigh; give in. You have no fight left in you.

“At least get a chair or something,” you say, uncomfortable with the prospect of him kneeling on the floor for the next five or six hours. Thankfully, he doesn't argue, handing you the ice and grabbing your desk chair, pulling it to the side of your bed. You settle under your covers, carefully lying yourself on the mattress, and as soon as your head hits the pillow you’re pretty much out.

You feel Connor move the blanket to continue icing your stomach but don’t flinch. You see the dim lighting in your room fade behind your closed eyelids, knowing Connor must’ve done that, already feeling sleep tugging at you.

You swear you hear him say something like, “get some rest,” and your name at the end, but you aren’t really sure. You’re already drifting, any self consciousness you would’ve had with someone literally watching you sleep gone with your exhaustion.

In the back of your mind you know you have a lot of shit to deal with tomorrow and you’re _definitely_ dreading all of it and you _know_ you’re going to owe someone for having Connor here with you and everything, but…

It feels good to have someone taking care of you, for a change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this isn't longer,, the next chapter def will be and so will the rest but,, gotta worldbuild an' shit yk  
> if i don't update by like fucking six am tonight u all are legally obligated to send a hitman just for the record


	4. Shatter Me

When Alice was first born, it felt as though the whole world stopped around you.

It was so strange, seeing someone so young, so _small_ , and just completely untouched and pure, because it made you remember that you were once like that, too.

The one time you went (you were forced) to go to a school counselor and had to explain what you felt, you used glass as analogy.

Glass comes out smooth, clear, untainted. With every handler fingerprints are left behind, some of which fade faster than others, but some them don’t ever really go away. Glass isn’t exactly versatile, it’s fragile, and once it’s cracked it can’t be fixed, and once it’s broken, it will never be the same again. You can pick it up and put it back together, but it’s never going to be the once unstained and undamaged surface it used to be. You can never get it back to the way it was, no matter how hard you try and how much time passes, it’ll never undo the damages.

She wasn’t the best counselor, you don’t think many school counselors are, and you don’t remember what she said to that, but to this day, you think it’s a pretty effective way of trying to describe why you are the way you are now.

When you saw Alice for the first time, you teared up. Not only because how beautiful she was, but also because of how beautiful the whole situation was. Alice was a completely new life brought onto the planet, and she was _alive._ She was completely untainted by the world, wholly new, a new sheet of glass. A moldable piece of clay, a blank slate. In that hospital, you found a new purpose to your life; to protect Alice and give her the best, happiest life that you never had.

You would make _sure_ her life was nothing like yours.

You had to step away momentarily, because you just started full on crying. You always felt so powerless, so helpless against all the factors of the obstacles thrown at you from day one that you had no control over. No matter what you did, it was never enough. You nevercould  _change_  anything. But, that day, in that room, you realized that maybe that was okay. Because, even though your life had been hell, you could make it heaven for someone else. Specifically, the prettiest baby you’d ever laid eyes on. You would make sure she had a chance, ensure that what infected you wouldn’t harm her. You were going to make sure she never knew the pain that you did. You would be the person that you always needed but never had for her.

That night, your mind was the clearest it had been for a while.

It’s really too bad that you completely failed at protecting Alice, isn’t it?

You couldn’t even take care of one, meek, untroublesome little girl.

You should’ve tried harder. Shouldn’t have let your own problems get in the way and focus on what—on _who_ really mattered. Alice needed you, and you left her alone in the darkest part of her short life.

And now, you don’t even know where she is.

What a great job you did, huh?

You open your eyes to the faint sound of your voice being called and a touch on your cheek, blinking when you feel a wetness in your eyes.

You’re crying…

Why are you crying, again?

You wipe the tears away, pushing yourself into a seated position, or, _trying_ to, but fall back down when pain reverberates throughout your entire body.

A whine escapes your lips and the tears come back up again as you suddenly become aware of how much _everything fucking hurts._

There’s a hand on top of you, bracing itself against your chest, holding you in place even as you try to get up.

“S-Stop it,” you try to fight against the grip, “let me up, I need to go to work—!”

“I’ve already called in and explained that you won’t be able to attend today,” soothes a smooth voice, and you pause, blinking your eyes until your vision clears and remember where you are and who’s speaking to you.

_...Right._

For a second, you almost thought maybe it was all just a bad dream. You always were a wishful thinker.

“Connor,” you find yourself saying, following the hand he has on your shoulder up to his face. It gives your something else to focus on beside the pain.

“Yes?” he responds, and you don’t answer. You meant it more as a statement.

“I’m okay,” you mumble placing your hand on his arm and gently taking it off, “...sorry.”

“I didn’t mean to startle you." His touch lingers against your skin. “We have exactly thirty minutes before we need to go to the precinct,” he explains, and when you try to move again, he plants his palm back onto you and prevents you from doing so. “You shouldn’t move too much on your own. Allow me to assist you.”

You want to protest, but with the state of your body and how little sleep you got, you don’t have it in you to.

You manage a nod and then bite the inside of your cheek when pain shoots up your neck, exhaling a shaky sigh when you notice it’s started to hurt to fucking _swallow_.

Connor wraps your arm around his shoulders and helps you up, grabbing your waist where you have the least bruises at. You find yourself getting lightheaded when you’re on your feet, leaning into his chest and you feeling like you’re going to faint again, grasping onto the material of his shirt in an attempt to ground yourself.

It takes you a moment, but you steady yourself, pushing back on Connor’s chest and focusing your weight on the arm that’s around his shoulders.

“Are you alright?” he asks before allowing you to continue, and you know the definite answer to that is a big _no_ , but you tell him you’re managing so he’ll take you to your bathroom so you can finally take a shower.

Naturally, he tells you he can’t leave you behind a closed door, and instead sits outside while you _leave the door open_ and shower.

You know he’s seen most of you by now, but you still feel self conscious as you strip your clothes off and step into the warm water, gasping softly at the feel of it on your abrasion-covered skin. Connor, once again, asks if you’re okay, and you quickly tell him that yes, you’re fine, the water was just a little too hot.

He says something about how you should be especially careful because of your injuries, but you mostly tune him out, focusing on the feeling of finally getting off all the remaining blood and whatever else from yesterday.

“...What does pain feel like?”

You hesitate while shampooing your hair, your gaze darting towards the door where Connor is. After a moment, you continue, trying to think of a way to answer that question.

“Not good,” is the first thing that comes out of your mouth, which is a stupid and obvious response, but how do you even describe feeling to someone who literally doesn’t _feel?_ “But… it lets you know when you’re harming yourself, or when something is wrong with your body. Not all pain is bad.”

If he’s not satisfied with your answer, he doesn’t say so, and you fall back into silence until you’re finished washing yourself.

You manage to convince Connor that you can dress yourself, which isn’t completely true, considering how much your body protests as you put your clothes on, but it’s not like you’re going to say that. Getting out of bed was the hardest, and you’re not sure you could’ve done it without his aid, but you’re definitely not going to let yourself be hanging onto him for the rest of the day. Especially not when—

_—When you have to go back to the precinct._

You’re reminded of what exactly you’re getting ready _for,_ and some of your motivation drains. You continue through your routine, though, at the very least feeling eager to get whatever news on Alice that you can.

_Alice…_

You can’t look in the mirror too long, not bothering to try to cover your bruises with makeup as you know you’re just going to be with people who’ve seen them before. Or, who understand that you’ve been through some shit and won't ask too many questions. After messing with your hair and scanning over yourself briefly, you decide you’re satisfied, grabbing your keys and leading Connor out of the room.

But then you stop halfway down the stairs when you realize you don’t have your car.

“Fuck,” you stuff your keys into your pocket, turning to Connor. “Where’s my car?”

“It’s still at the precinct,” he answers, “you can drive it back when you come home tonight, if you’d like.”

_...Tonight?_

“...Alright,” you say, but then remember something else, “wait, then how are we getting there?”

You jump as a loud honk sounds from outside your door.

“That would be Lieutenant Anderson.”

You blink, looking from him to the door, and then shrug and continue out. That’s that, you guess.

You follow Connor out to Hank’s car, taking one last glance at your house. You’re starting to miss the ability to just lie around and drink and sleep as much as you want to.

But, as you settle into Hank’s back seat and listen to him fruitlessly try to explain himself when Connor makes a remark about this being the first time he’s gotten up this early in ages, you think…

This time around, it felt good not to wake up alone.

 

☾ ☽

 

You only realize you fell asleep when you wake up to Hank saying your name, jolting violently and subsequently hurting yourself in the process.

“Lieutenant, you should make more of an effort not to frighten her. With the stress she has been under in the past eleven and a half hours she is at a much statistically higher rate fo—”

“Don’t be telling her that kind of shit!” Hank cuts him off, lightly pushing Connor’s shoulder. Connor only blinks at him, not seeming to understand where Hank’s anger is coming from. Well, of course he wouldn’t.

“Don’t worry about it,” you start, in a way-too lighthearted tone for what you’re about to say, “I’m here for a good time, not a long time.”

Hank snorts while Connor simply looks unsettled. You plan to get out of the car as your means of escaping any further questioning from him, not really feeling up to answering anything if it’s anything close to the whole “what does pain feel like?” thing, but when you turn to the door, your plan is halted in its tracks. “...Where are we?”

“I thought it’d be a good idea to get something to eat before heading over to that shithole.” Hank says, and Connor stares at him expectantly. He looks back at him for a solid four seconds before rolling his eyes and amending, “ _we_ thought it’d be a good idea.”

Connor _almost_ smiles at that, and you're curious to see the real thing. Would that even be something he was programmed for?

You find yourself perking up at the idea of food, having not had a decent meal in… you’re not sure how long. It’s been a while.

You slowly get out of the car, immediately wrapping your arms around yourself at the cold. You think you remember Connor saying something about how you should’ve gotten a coat before you left but you told him you’d be fine—well, no, you _definitely_ remember him saying that, but you’re not going to give him the satisfaction of knowing he was _right_ —fuck, why do you do this to yourself?

The restaurant they bring you to is nice, a lot nicer than ones you’re used to. It’s warm and has a nice atmosphere, and you think maybe you can forget everything for a little while. If only you had alcohol to aid you with that.

You sit down in a small booth near the corner, Connor deciding to sit with you after the look Hank gives him when he begins towards his side. For some reason, you don’t really mind the company. You’re in a weird mood, today.

You guess you can’t really blame yourself though, after the night you had yesterday. (Or, technically, some of it was earlier today. But whatever. Same difference.)

“I’m glad that you’re finally starting to have a change of heart in what you consider ‘healthy food’, Lieutenant,” Connor comments, looking over the menu. You glance up at Hank, who only scoffs.

“The only reason we came here is because it’s close, smartass,” he retorts, “and can you relax a bit, Connor? You’re making me nervous, sitting like that.”

Connor glances down at himself, and you guess Hank shares the same distaste for his constant rigid behavior as well. He looks like he’s getting ready to be inspected or something, with his perfect posture and hands folded neatly in his lap.

He seems confused, and you let out as close to a laugh as you can get to without hurting yourself, deciding to come to his rescue. “Just… sit back. And put your hands on the table... or something.”

Awkwardly, he tries to push his shoulders back and clasps his hands on the table, and Hank watches in amusement, shaking his head, but doesn’t say anything else about it.

“You worked for Cyberlife, eh?” Hank asks a few minutes later, and you stiffen.

“I—yes, a while ago,” you answer, trying to make it clear to him that _you don’t want to talk about it,_ “it wasn’t for that long. It’s really not a big deal.”

He shrugs, sitting back in his seat. “You ever dealt with deviants before?”

“No,” you answer honestly, “not before now. At least… I don’t _think_ so.”

Connor spares a glance towards you at that, but Hank speaks before he can.

“So, you know a thing or two about androids,” he says, more of a statement than an actual question. Slowly, you nod, not really knowing where this is heading.

“...Interesting,” is all he says, sending a pointed look towards Connor. You look between the both of them but they pay you no mind. “Then,” he uses your first name and you wonder if that gives you the okay to call him by his first name, too, “what’s your verdict on the whole ‘deviancy’ thing?”

Your verdict, huh…

Well, this wasn’t a question you were expecting to be asked at seven-thirty in the morning.

“I mean, if you’re asking if I believe some androids really do feel human emotion, then yeah, I do,” you reply, seeing Connor open his mouth to correct you and quickly continue, “if they feel the same things as we do, then there’s no reason we shouldn’t treat them as people as well.”

“But," Connor starts, and _yup_ _, there it is_ , "androids aren’t unique like humans are, they’re replaceable, and—”

You aren’t finished. “When it comes down to it, are a string of code and a string of DNA all really that different? Even if an android’s data is transferred from one to another, it then will have different information then it did previously telling it that it had been transferred over. No one android is really the same as another, either.”

...At least, that's the conclusion you've come to with throughout growing experiences with androids.

Hank’s lips quirk upwards as he regards you with what you would say is impressed expression if you didn’t know better. As if you passed whatever test he was conducting on you, he throws up his hands before crossing them over his chest and sending Connor another glance that doesn’t go unnoticed by you.

“Well... eat up, kid,” Hank says, giving you a small grin, “it’s on me.”

Your eyes widen. “No, no, you don’t have to—”

“Trust me,” he leans forward, “you have a long day ahead of ya. It’s on the house.”

Reluctantly, you accept, beginning to look over your options.

“Don’t worry,” Connor assures you, “Lieutenant Anderson may spend most of his money on alcohol, but he has a lot of saved up from—”

“Shut it, Connor.”

 

☾ ☽

 

You’re not sure how the pair have gotten you so close to letting your guard down within less than twenty-four hours of knowing you, and you definitely don't like it. Maybe it’s the fact that you’ve lost everyone who you were close to, the remains the family you built, and you’re desperate for something to hold onto. Or, maybe it’s because you feel like you fit in with Hank and Connor, and they make you feel safe.

Or, maybe it’s because you’re stupid and sad and lonely. Any of them are fair game, at this point.

After your breakfast, the drive to the precinct isn’t as tense as you thought it’d be. You’re still nervous, and you don’t really know what to expect, but you feel like you’re relieved to just be getting it over with.

You trail close behind Connor to the Hank's terminal, waiting there for him to come back after he said he had to go talk to his boss. Captain, something? It started with an "F", you think. You don’t remember.

Before he’s even gone for a full minute he returns, walking with a purpose in his step and Officer Miller behind him, who nods to you when you meet his gaze.

“Come on,” he says to you and Connor, “we’re goin’.”

You look to Connor for an explanation, but Officer Miller speaks first. “The AX400 and the little girl that disappeared last night have been spotted in the Ravendale District.”

“Oh, shit—”

You and Connor exchange glances before following Hank out of the building.

It looks like today just might be the day you meet your savior and finally see your little girl again.

You all file into Hank’s car, you gripping onto your seat in anticipation as Hank rushes to pull out and get onto the main roads.

“Lieutenant, you should slow down—”

“Not now, Connor,” you both say in unison. You need to get there, need to see Alice, need to make sure she’s safe—

Hank can’t possibly go any faster, and you have to bite down on your tongue in order to not snap at him to hurry up. You know he’s doing the best he can. 

As soon as his car jerks to a halt in a space between a row of parked automatic cars, you jump out, approaching a group of officers.

“That way,” one of them tells Connor, and as soon as he splits, so do you.

You hear Hank curse, but you know he’ll catch up later. What matters right now is getting to Alice.

Connor is much faster than you, of course, but you don’t stray too far behind him either, the adrenaline coursing through you being enough to ignore the pain as you push your body to overdrive. Another officer points you down an alleyway, giving you a chance to gain on Connor more. And then, as you turn and head towards the fence, you see them.

 _Alice._ Your _s_ _avior._

The android helps Alice down off the fence, and then they slide down the slope, and…

_Straight onto the highway._

Connor’s hands hit against the chain-links as he stops, watching the pair vault over the guardrail and hesitate for a split second before—

 _Fuck_ ,  _no_.

You’re moving before your mind can catch up, hoisting yourself onto the fence despite the intense pain that begs you to stop. Swearing under your breath as literally every part of your body fights against you, you grip onto the cold metal tightly and yank yourself up.

“Wait!” Connor’s saying your name, his hands on your shoulders, trying to pull you off, but you kick him square in the chest and twist yourself out of his grip.

You hear Hank call after you too, but you’re already pushing yourself over the top of the fence, blinking away the tears that surface because of the immense pain you’re putting yourself through. You fall ungracefully onto the ground when you dismount, but it’s wet from the rain, and it’s not too bad. You scramble to your feet and then you’re off again.

 _Fuck fuck fuck fuck this_ hurts _fuck—_

When you reach the end of the slope, you’re covered in mud, but you keep going. By now, Alice and the AX400 have made it to the grassy middle protected by two guard rails, and, as you stand at the edge of the busy highway, cold air burning your face as a car rushes past you, you recognize that, with your injuries, there’s a good chance you may not make it across alive.

 _No._ You’re so _close_ to Alice, she’s _right_ in front of you, you can’t let her get away. Not again.

And then you’re going, darting in front of a car and just barely managing to avoid another one. There’s no way for you to get through with the large expanse of the truck in front of you and the other coming towards you, but you try anyway, collapsing onto your elbows and knees when you’re clipped by another rushing car, crying out when you _swear_ you feel something inside you tear as you force yourself over onto your side, your back landing against the first guard rail.

You’ve made it halfway.

Gasping for air in short, rasping breaths, you grab the top of the hard, wet surface and shove yourself over, falling onto your knees but pushing yourself up to your feet.

Alice and the android have already started on the other side.

You begin to step over the second railing, but you’re harshly yanked back. You whip your head around to see Connor holding onto you tightly, preventing you from going any further.

“Let _go_ _!”_ you try and wrench yourself out of his grip, grunting when you feel a spark of pain. He doesn't budge.

“I cannot let you do this,” he says simply, his strong hold on you proving no match against your weakened state. You pant, eyes locking on the AX400 pushing Alice in front of a speeding vehicle, watching in horror as the little girl falls onto the wet cement, and, by the narrowest of margins, avoids getting run over by the help of her deviant companion. Your savior.

No. You’re not going to give up. Not this time.

You take advantage of Connor’s grip on you, bringing your knees up and shoving, knocking your head back against his, which sends a searing pain behind your eyes, but you manage to momentarily get him to let up on you. F _alling into the guard rail, you quickly jump over it and start again._

You know Connor’s behind you without looking, and try your luck against the two fastly approaching cars in the next two lanes, sprinting to safety and almost falling backwards as another passes in front of you. There’s a brief pause in encroaching vehicles, and you focus your line of sight in front of you.

Alice is standing on the other side, soon met by the AX400. The android tries to get her to continue down the long stretch of grass, but Alice is frozen in place, looking you dead in the eye.

You smile.

You savior is looking at you too, pretty blue eyes wide, and you know she recognizes you.

You’re finally going to get the chance to say thank you.

And then you’re grabbed again, pulled back into something sturdy by your shoulders.

 _“Connor—!”_ you yelp, finding yourself struggling fruitlessly against him once again, _“stop_ it!”

The two of you wrestle in place, dancing on a tightrope surrounded by pits of fire. You pull and he pulls back harder, until you’ve fought your way right into a car’s path.

You push, causing you and Connor and stumble backwards, and you drop down, squirming out of his arms and staggering towards the next lane, you’re so _close—_

You freeze when you look up to see a car only seconds away from you. There’s no way you can get out of its way in time.

You try and move forward anyway, tensing your body and bracing for impact, but instead of it coming from your side, it comes from your back.

You’re thrown forward, sparsely keeping your footing as you stop yourself and reach your new checkpoint, turning around to see what pushed you out of harm’s way—

— _Just in time to meet Connor’s gaze before the windshield of the incoming car that was_ meant _to hit you collides into him._

Time slows. You stop breathing.

You hear a sickeningly loud _crunch._  A shattering of glass and a screeching of tires against the pavement.

You open your eyes.

_No…_

He lies flat on the ground, head twisted unnaturally, blank but _lively_  eyes staring back at you. 

“ _Connor..._ ”

You try and say his name, reaching your arm out for him and starting towards him, but, in a brilliant mess of blue, he’s ran over and flattened against the ground under another automated vehicle, as if he was just a piece of dead roadkill.

Connor, the detective android you’ve only known for a day but who knows much more about you than most ever will, lies dead only mere inches in front of you.

It occurs to you that he may have been just ones and zeroes, unfeeling and not truly alive by human standards. But, more than that, he was still a person. If the root cause of deviancy is still currently unknown, who's to say he couldn't have become a person that _felt_ , too?

But now, you'll never know. 

Somehow, despite the short time you’ve known him…

You feel as though a part of you dies with him as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact: you ever heard that story of the mother that lifted the car off of her child? that's actually a thing, and it's dubbed as 'hysterical strength', assumed to be caused by adrenaline, and there's little research and explanation behind it. just thought that was interesting


	5. Blue Blood on Your Hands

Over the years of your life, you’ve observed many kinds of coping skills people use against the misfortune in their lives. _We all need something, or else we’ll go insane,_ Anne had told you. You have a wide variety, ranging from very unhealthy to fairly harmless, but you’ve always had one rather strange one you’ve never really been quite able to shake.

You’ve had your fair encounters with death. So many so, it was as if the two of you were acquaintances. Death is so unpredictable, lurking around every corner and hiding behind every tree, and to deal with that, you started thinking of death as your friend.

You were really little, when you first came up with it. But as you grew older and became even more familiar with those around you passing away, you felt like death had become your closest and only constant friend. You couldn’t really let it go.

You imagined death to look more like those old plague doctors you saw in a horror movie you weren’t supposed to be watching than like the well-known Grim Reaper. You definitely thought he’d wear a long, black cloak, but didn’t really think of him as scary, per say. Just a dark figure with a hood casting a shadow over his mask-covered face, wielding no weapons. Only an outstretched hand, beckoning you to to finally close your eyes and rest in a soft embrace.

The first time you met was at your grandfather’s funeral, a great man, you were told, but one you never got to know. You were so young, and you didn’t really understand what was going on. You didn’t see him, that time.

The second time you crossed paths and saw his face was in the dead eyes of your mother, staring right through you while you screamed. He was a subtle presence, then, standing afar and letting you grieve before whisking your mother away, grazing his hands across your shoulders as he left, almost as if in an attempt to comfort you.

You often felt his touch, sometimes in quiet moments at school or when you purposefully nicked your finger with a knife to see what it would feel like, or late nights in your room when you were curled up in bed and couldn’t sleep. You saw him lingering around your father after your mother’s death quite a lot, and when he finally left, he had eased a part of your father’s aching soul out with him.

You only noticed his visits to your sister when she was faded and hollowed out, and when her smiles never quite reached her glazed over eyes. You only noticed when there wasn’t really anything you could do anymore.

You saw him, that night, in the bathroom. Watched as he cradled your weeping sister and lifted her, dried her eyes and soothed her pain. You reached for him, too, but as soon as your fingers touched he was slipping away, along with the broken soul of your sister.

As time went on, death felt like a forbidden lover that you could never truly get to, and you ached every day to feel his kiss. He was only there in the small grazes you two had when you would pass each other, or the unexpected pats of comfort in the darker parts of your life.

You saw him in the mirror the night of your first real break at your house, when you went on an anger fueled spree of destruction, and you saw him in the thick liquid of alcohol you downed after Anne left. You saw him in the blood on your wrists and in the reflection of the blade, and felt him lie next to you when you would finally pass out after crying for hours on end.

And now, he stands in front of you, fingers brushing against Connor’s face, and you couldn’t be more unhappy with his return.

_Why…_

You hear a whisper of your name and slowly turn, meeting Alice’s teary gaze. Your savior has a deep look of sadness in her eyes, too, as if silently trying to communicate to you that she was sorry. Then they’re running again, and Alice glances back at you once more longingly, but you don’t try to stop her. You just feel so hopeless, so terrible and _disgusted_ with yourself for letting someone else get hurt. For letting someone else _die._ At least, if they get away, they’ll be much more safe than if they were with you.

White noise fills your ears as you fight your way past the destruction of the car crash caused by the chase, taking Connor by the shoulders and dragging him as best as you can back to the safety of the median strip, lying his body on the grass and pulling it into your lap.

You’re crying. Sobbing, at that. You’re not sure exactly why, because you’ve only known Connor for a day. Less than that. Not to mention he didn’t feel, but…

Maybe he could’ve.

The fact that _you_ did this, that his death is completely your fault and could’ve been avoided, makes you cry harder. You’ll never know what kind of person he was, what kind of person he could’ve been, and you also weep for Hank’s loss. You could tell he cared about him, even if he didn’t act like he did. This is your fault…

You can’t stand to look at the state of him. The smell of thirium clogs your senses and all you can do is just sit there and cry.

You wish it was you. You deserved it far more, and with the way you treat yourself, it’s not like you could possibly have that much time left. Why did things have to turn out like this?

You wonder…

Is the death that takes humans the same that takes androids?

You look up through your tear-blurred eyes, searching for your old friend that had always been with you in the shadows, but as you hold Connor’s cold, lifeless body to your own, irrationally hoping you could warm his up, it seems that even he has left you too.

 

☾ ☽

 

Hank drops you back off at your house, saying something about picking up where you left off tomorrow after they got everything sorted out. You had sobbed out an apology to him when you were pried away from Connor’s body, and, surprisingly to you, he responded quite calmly, dismissing you and telling you that “Connor had his ways of figuring things out”, which you didn’t really understand. You somehow found his relaxed and even expression and tone of voice much scarier than if he would’ve been angry and yelling at you.

They two of you didn’t speak the entire car ride.

You lifelessly enter your house, almost dropping to the floor when you get to your bathroom, but cling onto the counter and hold yourself up.

With the thrill of adrenaline having warn off, the pain has returned at full force, and even worse than this morning from the way you recklessly pushed yourself today. You earned some new cuts and probably bruises that haven’t fully showed up yet, but that’s not the part that puts you the most at edge.

Your hands are covered in Connor’s blood, almost as if whatever cruel god out there that’s watching knew that you were the one who got him killed.

It does nothing to help your broken psyche.

After sitting on the floor and crying a bit more, you get up and get in the shower, unable to stand the feeling of the thick consistency of Connor’s blood.

But, in the back of your mind, you know no matter how hard you scrub you’ll never truly wash it off.

You let yourself soak for a while even so, staring blankly at the ceiling. You can’t even really think, anymore.

When you get out and get dressed again, after lying in bed and unsuccessfully trying to go to sleep, unable to see anything but the image of Connor’s mangled corpse when you close your eyes, you get up with a sigh. You cover up your noticeable bruises with some makeup, and down a few too many painkillers with a shot of vodka.

Onto work it is, then.

 

☾ ☽

 

You still don’t have your car so you call a taxi, hiding behind the scarf you threw on before leaving the house as you try to ignore the stares of your coworkers, walking behind the counter wordlessly and getting straight down to business.

“Thought you weren’t coming in today?” you hear your partner say to you, and throw a glance behind your shoulder at her.

“Changed my mind,” you reply, taking the cup she holds out to you. She laughs.

“Still the same as ever,” she grins at you as you fill the it with coffee and cap it, “didn’t know you had a man, though.”

You almost drop the fucking cup. “Wh-What?”

She tilts her head to look at you, walking around you to take the coffee and place it on the order counter. “You know, the guy who called in for you.”

She calls the customer’s name, and you stop and stare at her.

_Connor._

“We’re not dating,” you manage to say in a straight voice when she chuckles knowingly but there’s nothing to _know,_ because Connor’s _dead._

“Then why was he with you at one in the morning last night?” she practically chirps, and you wish you could share her upbeat mood, and maybe you would humor her if Connor was still here, but…

You start crying. You can’t help it.

She doesn’t notice at first, taking another customer’s order, and you turn your head, hopeful maybe she won’t see, but then you sniffle, and she glances at you and concern immediately takes over her features.

“Sorry,” she apologizes to the teenage girl standing in front of her, turning and calling for someone in the back to take over for her while she leads you in there.

“What happened?” she asks once you’re out of earshot of anyone in the actual cafe, her face falling as she wipes at your tears, only to pause when her finger presses into your bruise and you flinch. Shit.

She leans in closer, no doubt being able to see it—you tried to cover it with the best high coverage concealer you had, but that wasn’t enough to completely take away the coloring, not to mention the slight swell.

“Did he do this to you?” she asks, her eyes flashing dangerously, and before you can deny it, images of Todd’s empty eyes as he pressed you up against the wall and strangled you resurface, and after this morning you almost feel like throwing up.

“Hey,” she murmurs, touching your wrist to which you jump at. She frowns, but continues. “You can tell me anything. You know that.”

You take a shaky inhale, using your sleeve to wipe away your tears. “I know,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest. “It wasn’t him, I just… got in a really bad car crash.”

Fuck.

You start full on sobbing when you say that, remembering how _you_ _got Connor killed,_ and the feeling of _his blood on your hands_ and the way he _looked_ at you before he _died_ and—

“Oh, babe,” she fawns over you, her voice getting shaky too, and fuck, she’s _way too nice,_  you don’t deserve this, “come here. It’s alright, you’re safe now.”

You let her gently run her hands up and down your back and cry into her shirt, unable to make yourself stop anymore. She smells sweet, like citrus, and you remember her telling you about how she went out of her way to find cherry-blossom scented perfume _just_ because her name is Cherry. That’s the type of person she is; the girl who calls you cute nicknames when you first meet and, apparently, holds you in the back of the cafe you work at after you break down and start crying. The girl who you always wanted to be like.

You haven’t known her for that long, but, right now, you love her to pieces.

“I know,” she whispers, “it’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

It’s not okay. It’s not going to be okay. It’s _never_ going to be okay.

But you don’t tell her that. You just do the one thing you’re good at these days—crying.

 

☾ ☽

 

Before shit went down yesterday, you were scheduled to work overtime today because, honestly, you need the money, and you knew if you weren’t at work you’d be drinking and that would lead to buying more alcohol which would only perpetuate the cycle. Now, you’re still working overtime, but for a completely different reason.

Cherry agrees to stay and work with you, which almost makes you feel worse, but you’re glad to have the company. Bless this girl.

Like usual, business slows down around the later hours, and, considering it’s during the week, it’s extra calm. Luckily, Cherry keeps you from getting too deep in your thoughts, and, if it were any other day, you’d be smiling and laughing with her. Her happiness is contagious, but today you’re immune to it.

When no one comes in for a while, Cherry asks if she can style your hair, and you roll your eyes but agree anyway. You know she’s just trying to cheer you up. You’re immensely grateful you made one good decision today and decided to put a scarf on.

“You smell good,” she's saying as she runs her hands through your hair eagerly, “what are you wearing?”

You purposefully put more perfume on today because you thought you still smelled like blue blood, but you smile softly anyway.

You begin to answer her, but the door chimes, and, interested perked, she steps in front of you, leaning over the counter to see who it is.

“Hey, didn’t you see the sign?” she asks in that annoyed tone of hers that almost reminds you of a pouting child, “you aren’t allowed in here—”

She stops when you stand and gently push her out of the way so you can see who it is, and you swear your jaw drops to the floor.

You almost scream, blinking your eyes harshly to make sure you’re not hallucinating, which, wouldn’t be surprising at this point.

“Didn’t you hear me?” Cherry asks, not noticing your reaction, “you have to leave—”

“...Connor?” you cut her off, your voice just above a whisper.

He does that little head tilt thing, and what the _fuck_ that’s _him_ —

“I apologize, my predecessor was unfortunately destroyed,” he explains, his smooth voice just the same as before, “but CyberLife transferred its memory and sent me to replace it. This incident should not affect the inves—”

“I just saw you get run over,” you say in disbelief, your stomach lurching as you remember how you could see his internal wiring through the copious amounts of thirium leaking out of him. “...What the fuck?”

You say it out loud this time. Connor just studies you, as if he didn’t fucking get his insides crushed by a truck just this morning. You lean forward, lightly grazing your fingers along his face, and then down to his shoulders that you remember grabbing onto when he lifted you out of bed today.

He’s still the same, as if…

As if _nothing ever happened._

You pull your hand back, dropping it onto the counter. This… this is…

“You can come back?” you ask, your voice cracking, “just… just like that?”

“When a previous Connor model is destroyed, another will be sent to replace it,” he says, and just… what the fuck? That’s-that's not—?

“Umm, is someone gonna tell me what the fuck is going on here?” Cherry asks, looking between the two of you. You can’t look away from Connor though, who stands clear as day in front of you when _you just got him killed this morning._

Connor’s glance flickers to her, and she leans back over the counter to get a closer look at him.

“Heyyy, aren’t you that new police android or whatever?” she asks, and you’re confused how she knows that until it dawns on you that it's probably all over the news.

“Yes. I am Connor, the android sent by CyberLife.” Cherry glances to you for explanation, but then Connor says, “I am the one who called in for,” he says your name. Fuck, fuck, this is not what should be happening right now—

“Oh. OH.” Cherry turns to you, a teasing grin spreading across your face, “so this is the guy, huh? I didn’t know you were into that kind of stuff,” she winks at you, “freaky.”

Yeah, no, this is _exactly_ what you _don’t_ need right now.

“I mean, can’t say I blame you,” she smirks, shooting a look towards Connor, “this Connor here _is_ pretty hot.”

“That’s not— _ugh_ ,” you pass a hand through your half-styled hair, combing it back to normal despite Cherry’s frown of disapproval, knowing you’re not going to be able to tell her otherwise. You turn back to the android in front of you. “Connor. What’s up?”

“My orders to accompany you still stand,” he says, “although, it is a little late as of now to actually make any significant progress on the case. You should return home and rest.”

“I”m working,” you reply dully. But then Cherry—being Cherry—smiles and speaks up for you.

“No, actually, your shift is almost done,” she says, glancing at the time on her phone that definitely does _not_ signify closing time, “I’ll lock up here. You go home and get some _sleep_ with mister hot-bot over here.”

You glare at her when her smile turns suggestive, and then she gives you a gentle hug. “Don’t keep her up _too_ late, yeah?” she says to Connor, giving you both a little wave before turning and flouncing off to the back. You sigh. You love her, you really do, but sometimes you kind of just want to hit her over the head.

“Alright,” you say, walking around the counter and to Connor, “let’s go home.”

Connor gives you a look of approval. “With your current mental state, that would be the best decision.”

Of course you’d be stuck with an android that can just read how mentally fucked up you are at any given time. Of course.

You wave him off, beginning towards the door, “yeah, yeah. Come on.”

Although, as Connor walks out beside you, you can’t hide the first real smile you’ve had all day.

 

☾ ☽

 

Because your car is _still_ at the precinct, Connor gets a taxi for the both of you. You’ll get it tomorrow. At least, that's what you'll tell yourself.

You're still are freaked out by the fact that he can just come back to life like nothing ever happened, but you’re thankful he wasn’t gone forever. You guess, he’s technically immortal. Thinking about that gives you some sense of happiness, considering he’ll never really _die,_ but… it also makes you a little sad.

You sit on your bed in your sleepwear, watching Connor as he tends to a long scratch on your leg you got today during the chase.

“...I’m sorry,” you blurt out after a few moments of silence pass, unable to stop yourself. Connor glances up at you. “You know… for getting you run over today.”

“Do not be apologetic. Androids do not feel pain,” he says simply, and you frown, “and they are also replaceable. It was my fault for being careless.”

“But you _weren’t_ being careless!” you argue, accidentally stiffening your leg in your anger. Ow. You look away. “...It was my fault.”

You realize what you just said. Inhale. Look at Connor. And then…

“You saved me,” you say dumbly, “why?”

“You would have been killed,” he replies. You snort.

_Yeah, no shit, Connor._

“...I’m not part of your mission.”

“But you are relevant to it.” You narrow your eyes at him slightly, but it seems that he’s not done. “Humans are not replaceable like androids are. There is not one human that is like another. Each has an importance.” His LED flickers, as if pondering something, and then when it returns to blue, he meets your eyes. “And, it would’ve been unfortunate to see you die.”

You blink, heat rising to your face, and quickly looking away. Fuck, you’re really starting to warm up to this stupid, cute android…

Ugh. Cherry _was_ right. He is pretty attractive. Stupid fucking CyberLife…

“...May I ask you a question, as well?”

Your eyes snap back to him. You nod. “Yeah, sure.”

“Why did _you_ save _me?”_

You look at him, confused, because you literally _got him killed_ , but then remember when the two of you were struggling and you had pushed him backwards, out of the way of an incoming car before you managed to escape his grip.

“You may think you’re irreplaceable, but you aren’t, especially not to me. Just like I said this morning,” you tell him as he finishes treating your cut. He sits back on his heels. “And…” you smile at him, “it would’ve been unfortunate to see you die.”

He stares up at you, and you know he doesn’t really understand, but you still smile for him like he does.

Maybe, one day he will. And now, he has the chance to.

“...I’m happy you didn’t die, Connor.”

It slips out. You try to amend it, but Connor’s already speaking.

“I would have found it regrettable to not have been able to return, as well,” he says, standing. “You overexerted yourself today. You should rest.”

You sit back on your bed. He’s right. You kind of feel like you were just slammed against a wall a few times. And, well, you kind of were, at one point.

You get up to turn off your lights, but Connor stops you. You huff but still lay back, getting under the covers. Sleeping has never felt better than it has these past two days.

You told Connor that if he was to watch you sleep every night he was here, then he would have to at least sit in a chair if he wasn’t going to lie down. He continues to use your desk chair, pulling it up close to your bed. When you’re both settled, you find him looking at you, and you turn towards him. “What is it?”

“...Earlier, at the cafe, was your coworker insinuating that you and I have had sexual relations?”

You sit up. Okay, you’re not really tired anymore.

“U-Um,” Connor watches you closely, awaiting your answer. You sigh, lying back down. “Yes. Yes she was.”

“...Is that something you think about?”

You pause. Oh. _Oh no._

“If so,” he continues, still looking you straight in the eye, and god what the _fuck_ did you do to deserve this, “I would firstly direct you to the Eden Club, as—”

 _“Connor,”_ you groan, hiding your face in your hands. “We’re not gonna go there. It’s too late for this…”

“You are correct. You should be resting.” You slowly uncover your face again, to see Connor looking at you like a scolded child. Ugh… “I apologize.”

“It’s _fine,_  Connor.” you shift slightly, looking up at the ceiling. You hate how much of a liking you’ve taken to this stupid, unintentionally adorable android.

You really are happy that he came back.

Today was really such a mess, wasn’t it? It's almost laughable at how much went wrong. You hope every day isn’t going to be like this from now on.

You guess, now, you’ve had your life saved by androids twice.

_Alice and the AX400…_

Your rather high-spirited mood from Connor’s return fades when you recall that Alice is out there with that android, and they’re all alone. You let Alice—let _both_ of them get away again. They slipped right through your fingers as you watched.

A part of you knows that’s for the better. Alice’s dad is dead and Anne is… well. She’d be put in the system, and you know how shitty it is. You wouldn’t want that. And…

You don’t want the android who saved you to be shut down, either.

Maybe it’s better for them to continue to run. You just pray that they make it to safety. They deserve to be free, and have a happy life. Both of them.

You really wish to speak to the deviant who saved you, and learn about her, know why she did it. Thank her, befriend her. You want to hold Alice again, apologize for leaving her alone, and not be a fucking idiot and protect her for _real_ this time.

You know you’ll see the both of them again. Either when they get caught, or when everything dies down and you find a way to get to them, but…

It still hurts. You don’t know if you made the right decision. But, you guess, there’s nothing you can really do about it now. What you _can_ do, however…

“Connor,” you murmur. He looks up from the floor and at you. You can’t help but smile. “...Thank you. For saving me.”

He gazes at you, his eyes hardening. “You do not need to—”

“I know.” You brush your hair out of your face. “I just wanted to say it.”

He looks at you for a little longer, as if debating whether or not to argue, and then decides against it. “Well… alright.”

It gives you a sense of satisfaction, that he doesn’t reject your gratitude. You close your eyes.

“We will be reporting to the precinct at the same time as we did today,” he tells you softly, “rest well.”

The corners of your mouth tug upwards. You really hate getting up early, and as much as you dreaded it this morning, you don’t really think you mind going tomorrow. Not if you’re going to be with Connor and Hank. If the craziness dies down a bit, you think…

You could get used to this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i imagine every time connor comes back after being killed that fucking song called like,, "what you won't do for love" plays,, just like the "i bet you wonder where i've been" and that just. it just cracks me up
> 
> sorry i know everything is pretty connor-centric right now but markus and kara will be frequent soon. and hey, i admit that i'm a big sucker for connor just as much as anyone else. just. what a cutie


	6. The Edge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i need to change the summary tbh uwu i'll do it some point

Everyone has a purpose, they say. You always kind of doubted that idea.

Not because you didn’t think that individuals' lives didn’t matter. No, that wasn't it at all. It was because, for the life of you, you couldn’t find what kind of purpose you could possibly have.

Your sister told you that you were like a jellyfish. You were pretty young at the time, and you got mad at her, because _“jellyfish don’t have brains! Are you calling me stupid?”,_ but, now that you’re older, you understand where she was coming from.

For the longest time, you’ve kind of just floated through life. Never really having a particular direction, a sense of who you’re supposed to be. Maybe you knew, at some point, but as soon as you thought you had yourself figured out, the ground would be pulled out from under your feet, and you would have to start all over again.

You used to live only because you could. There’s a difference between living and surviving, you heard once, and you were just doing the bare minimum to get by. And then, when you got tired of being hit over and over again and having to pick yourself up off the ground, you didn’t even focus on surviving anymore. You just tried to push yourself closer to the end, like you were letting yourself sink to the bottom of the sea and further and further away from the surface.

It felt like you were a passenger in your own body, watching as the world went on around you, not having almost any control. You were just _there,_  the weight on your shoulders only growing heavier and heavier as your ride continued until you just wanted to get off and rest. When you finally progressed forward, you’d fall into a hole that took forever to get out of, and you might as well not have made any progress at all. You had no reason to keep going.

But, now, you feel as though you have a renewed vigor to continue. A direction, a light to follow. You feel as though you want to stick it out, to see where the path you’ve been put on will take you. You no longer want to stop and close your eyes, but to keep going and reach the end, to help those along the way, and continue on if there’s another trail leading from the one you’re on now.

It feels weird, to actually have the motivation to wake up. Maybe it’s not a lot, but when Connor calls your name and you open your eyes, you don’t feel nearly as heavy as you used to.

You think about it when you shower, the warmth of the water sliding off your skin reminding you that you’re alive, and that if it wasn’t for Connor, you wouldn’t be.

“Thank you,” you had said to him yesterday, “for saving me.” And the thing is, _you meant it._

If had been any other time in your life, you wouldn’t have been thankful. You would’ve been mad. You finally had your chance to let go, but it was taken away from you. The touch of death used to feel warm and comforting, but when Todd had you pressed against the wall, it was cold and rough; when you were about to be hit in the middle of the highway, it felt foreign and scary.

You’re…

_Happy to be alive._

What a weird feeling.

Connor sits and waits for you to get out of the shower, handing you a change of clothes when you walk out. You smile and thank him, still fucking _sore,_ but in a generally better mood after you finally got more than six hours of sleep.

“I called in for you again today,” Connor says as you both head downstairs, “but your boss said that your coworker already told her the details.”

 _Cherry_. “Sounds about right.”

You just hope she didn’t fucking say what you think she might’ve. Your boss will have your head.

Hank arrives a little later today, apparently only being woken up when Connor called him. You heard a few curses throughout the phone call, and you think it’s safe to say that Hank is dealing with the whole “Connor dying brutally and coming back” thing a little harder than you. It still sends chills down your spine to think about it, but at this point, you’re kind of on autopilot when it comes to trauma in order to keep going.

“So you’re back, huh.” Hank doesn’t look at Connor when he gets in the car, and you’re suddenly reminded that this whole thing is still your fault. “And in one piece. Pretty handy, how that works.”

You study him from the back seat, the way his lips form a thin line and how tight his jaw is. He struck you as an old soul when you met him, and not just in the physical sense, but you don’t think you’re wrong to assume he’s been through some shit.

Takes one to know one, after all.

You guess that’s what he meant by “Connor has a way of figuring out his shit”. Huh.

Connor tries to explain how it’s not a big deal, how it's just a machine replacing another machine and that whole spiel that you’ve heard _way_ too many times already, and you just spare him Hank’s anger and tell him to stop while he's ahead.

The drive is quiet after that, and then Connor takes out a quarter.

You watch, enraptured, as he effortlessly rolls it across his knuckles as if it weighs nothing, catching it in two fingers and flicking it into the air. You know he’s just making it look easy, but you’re almost tempted to ask him to teach you.

Until, that is, Hank says, “you’re starting to piss me off with that coin, Connor”, and takes it away.

You almost laugh. It’s funny to you, but you don’t really know why. You hope you’re not starting to lose it already when you just got started in this investigation.

The precinct is pretty empty when you walk in. Not that it was exactly buzzing yesterday, but it has a calmer air today.

“Who the hell is this?”

...Yeah, you definitely spoke too soon.

You turn, coming face to face with—

Oh no. _No no no no no._ This is absolutely _not_ happening right now.

 _He_ says your name, just as surprised as you are. “The fuck are _you_ doing here?”

No. Absolutely not. You’re _not_ having it today.

Hank and Connor look up, watching you as you take a deep breath and count back from ten in your head.

“...Gavin,” you address him in a hiss, “what are _you_ doing here?”

“I _work_ here.” He looks behind you to Connor and Hank. “The fuck are you doing with this alcoholic and his little plastic pet? You finally cave and commit mass murder or somethin’?”

Who were you in your past life? Who did you kill? Who did you fucking hurt to deserve this?

“Actually,” Connor pipes up, “she is here to—”

“Yeah, shut the fuck up, tin can. Wasn’t asking you.” Gavin cuts him off with a hand, crossing his arms and looking back at you. Yup, he hasn’t changed _a bit._ Still a complete fucking _dick._

“Excuse me, but how the fuck do you two know each other?” Hank steps in between the two of you, pointing back and forth. You continue to glare at Gavin, not breaking eye contact with him even for a second.

“Old friends,” you mutter, even though you don’t and you never did consider him a friend. Fucking _Gavin Reed,_ you’ve always wanted to punch him _straight_ in the _fucking face_ —

“Yeah,” he says, that _stupid_ smug grin spreading across his face, “we go _way_ back.”

You take a step forward, _hating_ the fact that you have to look up at him but it’s not like that’s gonna matter when you throw him out the window. “You better keep my name out of your dirty fucking mouth, _Reed._ ”

“Hah, mine? Hell knows where _yours_ has been.”

You clench your fists as your side, and you swear you’re about to give him _just_ _as good of a beating as Todd gave you—_

“Alright, that’s _enough,"_  Hank puts an arm out in front of him as Gavin steps forward to you, too, probably getting ready to say stupid fucking snarky comment back, and fuck why does he have to work here, what the fuck. “Why don’t you get on your way, Reed? Some of us have _actual_ work to do.”

He laughs, that _annoying_ laugh that you _almost_ fucking forgot about, and then shrugs. “Alright, I’m goin’.” He walks away, and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, and then you hear, “see ya around.”

And he says your first name. Calls you by it like he has _any_ _right_ that _little_ —

He winks when you turn to glower at him, and, _deep breaths_ , just take deep breaths.

“It’s way too fucking early for this shit.” Hank rubs his temples, sinking into the chair behind his terminal. You share the sentiment.

“You’re telling me,” you mutter, brushing your hair back aggressively, leaning back on the desk behind you. “Okay, what do we have?”

Hank pulls up some logs, and while you’re waiting, you notice Connor looking at you.

That same confused look from two days ago. You mirror it, not knowing what he’s looking for in you, and after holding your gaze for another second, he looks away and turns his attention to Hank.

“They lost that android from yesterday,” Hank says, and you know he’s glaring daggers at the both of you for your impulsive decisions. “It was last seen getting on the subway. Hell knows where it is now.”

Alice…

Did you make the right decision by letting her get away for now?

Hank turns his head towards you. “You ever notice anything off ‘bout Williams’s android?”

“I didn’t know her.” She looked so sad, even when she ran with Alice. “I didn’t even know he _had_ an android…”

Hank rests his head in his hands, expression pensive. “That girl that was with the deviant… she didn’t seem to be struggling _at all._ It definitely didn’t kidnap her.” His eyes harden as he stares at his desk. “It’s almost as if they ran away together.”

That… that’s exactly it. You think you knew that before, but you never really connected the dots. 

Todd had an android who was no doubt also a subject to his abuse. The night of the fight when he was high off his ass on Red Ice, the AX400 and Alice escaped, and then…

She came back for you?

Not only did she risk her life going back in, but..

She saved yours as well.

Fuck. And you don’t even know her _name_.

“Even if that is the case, the deviant still committed murder,” Connor states matter-of-factly, and Hank scowls at him.

“What if it was just protecting that kid?” he gestures towards you, “I mean, look at how bad that piece of shit fucked her up. What was it supposed to do? Sit back and watch while he killed her?”

You suddenly feel cold, wrapping your arms around your waist, swallowing hard, forcing the memory down. You don’t want to think about that again.

Connor’s LED flickers, as if he’s conflicted, but then his eyes glaze over and go unfocused and you get a little scared.

“Connor?”

You reach out for him, but then he looks straight at you, completely back to normal, and you jump.

“I just got a report of a suspected deviant nearby.” You and Hank exchange nervous glances. “We should go check it out.”

Hank sighs, standing from the chair and grabbing his coat. You look at him pleadingly.

“Please tell me you aren’t going to leave me here with Reed.”

He hesitates, one arm through the sleeve of his jacket. If push comes to shove, you _do_ have your car, but… “it’s not like you can leave me alone anyways, right?”

You bat your eyelashes at him. He looks unamused.

“That would be the best course of action, all things considered,” Connor agrees with you, and you smile with as much charm as you can muster.

“Pretty please?”

“Fuck it,” Hank throws his arms up in exasperation, “let’s go.”

You follow after him as he strides out of the precinct, Connor falling in step with you. “Thank you, Hank!”

“Don’t push it, kid.”

 

☾ ☽

 

As it turns out, the suspected deviant was apparently residing at an abandoned apartment. At least, at one point it was, according to the person who reported it.

“What do we know about this guy?” Hank asks as you exit the elevator, stepping out into a rundown hallway that smells heavily of dust.

“Not much,” Connor replies, trailing after Hank while you linger behind to observe the beaten down walls, and the damages done to the ground. It doesn’t _look_ like someone’s been here for a pretty long time. “Just that a neighbor reported that he had heard strange noises coming from this floor. Nobody’s supposed to be living here, but the neighbor said he saw a man hiding an LED under his cap.”

You pause at the sight of what looks like feathers, bending down to get a closer look. They look like they’re from pigeons, with the grey coloring and the black patches., and you guess it wouldn’t be that crazy to think that birds found a home here.

Hank groans. “Oh Christ, if we have to investigate every time someone hears a ‘strange noise’, we’re gonna need more cops.”

“Pigeon feathers." You suddenly hear Connor's low voice from behind you, and when you turn to look, he’s inches from your face, and you inelegantly fall backwards.

_Too close…_

“The fuck are you two doing?”

Connor looks back to Hank, offering you a hand and pulling you back to your feet without even sparing you a glance.

“Sorry, Lieutenant,” Connor replies, as coolly and smooth as ever, “I just thought we might’ve found something noteworthy.”

He looks between the two of you, and you rub your arm self consciously, cursing yourself for being so jumpy. He lets it go though when Connor brings up a hand and knocks on the door.

Five seconds pass. Silence.

You and Connor look to Hank, and he shrugs, to which Connor’s response is to bang on the door three times and in a much more aggressive manner. 

“Anybody home?” he calls, as you and Hank stand next to the door and try to listen in for any sounds from the other side. “Open up! Detroit Police!”

At that, there’s some kind of… movement? You think? It sounds like someone is pushing something heavy. Someone's definitely in there.

Hank pushes himself off the wall, stepping in front of the two of you and drawing his gun. “Stay behind me.”

Connor holds his arm out in front of you as you step closer, gently pushing you to the back of him, and you hold your breath, silently praying that you won’t have to watch him get killed again. You may not be able to do much considering your physical state, but you still prepare yourself to protect Connor if needed.

Hank kicks the door down, stepping inside. You get on your tiptoes to see over Connor’s shoulders, watching with bated breath as he scans the room before him, ultimately deciding there isn’t a threat nearby and continues his search.

After Hank enters the other room to the left and finds no one inside, Connor glances back and gestures with a jerk of his head for you to follow as he starts inside, still using himself to shield you. You would be lying if you said you didn’t feel safe with him, but there’s still a chilling fear in you that you’re gonna be crying over his dead body again.

You don’t want that...

And then, Hank kicks down another door, and Connor’s hands find your arms as you jerk back when—

_Pigeons fly out?_

“What the _fuck_ is _this?_ _!”_

Hank lowers his gun momentarily as he makes his way through the birds, clearing a path for you and Connor, who, releases you once you all see that all that’s here is literally just fucking _pigeons._   _This_ is where those feathers were from.

What the fresh hell?

...Well, to each their own, you guess.

Connor ambles towards a folded up jacket, and you take interest in the cluttered shelf beside him. “R.T.,” he's saying, “probably initials.”

“He put his initials in his jacket? That’s something your mom does in _first grade._ ”

You reach out for a colorful packet, jolting when a pigeon flies at you but relaxing when it drops to the floor behind you. You shake the box, getting a quiet rattling sound.

_Bird food…_

You put it down, turning to continue to explore the room along with Connor, but literally every step you take causes an abundance of pigeons to take off and scatter around you. How did _so many_ get in here?

Connor opens the fridge to find nothing inside, which would point to the suspect being a deviant. Which, wouldn’t be surprising, considering these living conditions.

“The driver’s license is fake,” you hear Connor say from behind you as you wander into the bathroom, but not before studying the weird markings on the wall. They almost look like mazes.

“Cool! At least we didn’t come for nothing.”

The bathroom isn’t in any better shape than the rest of the building, leaves lining the top of the sink as if a decoration. You lean down, noticing the blue substance in the bowl of it, and then the small ring of light lying on the edge.

“Connor…”

You hear him enter the room, looking over you at your findings. He reaches around you, swiping his fingers in the blue blood and then lifting it to his face. You think he’s studying it, at first, and then his tongue flicks out between his lips and he fucking _licks_ it.

“What the fuck?”

“I’m analyzing the blood,” he explains, bringing the fingers down from his mouth, “I can check samples in real time.”

You absolutely _hate_ that _that’s_ the way CyberLife decided to implement that feature, but he sounds so proud of himself that you can’t really be grossed out for too long.

“I’m sorry, in hindsight, I should have warned you,” he drops his arm back at his side, “the Lieutenant was visibly unsettled the first time I did it as well.”

You would’ve _killed_ to see that.

His focus turns toward the LED lying on the sink, and he picks it up, rotating it around in his fingers.

“Its LED is in the sink,” Connor reports to Hank in the next room before putting it back down, turning and gazing over the rest of the room.

“Not surprised it was an android. No human could live with all of these fuckin’ pigeons.”

You look up too, stepping closer to the wall when you notice the scrawled writing that covers it.

“rA9…” you murmur out loud. Connor follows your gaze, looking over the obsessive script repeated over and over again.

“Written 2,471 times,” he continues off of you.

“Any idea what it means?”

You didn’t even notice Hank enter until he speaks. You’re still staring at the writing.

Two thousand four hundred seventy-one times? Whatever it is, it has to be pretty damn important.

“It’s the same sign Ortiz’s android wrote on the shower wall.” For once, Connor looks as dumbfounded as the rest of you. “Why are they _obsessed_ with this sign?”

The three of you stand in silence, some kind of silent agreement of confusion settled upon you.

_rA9…_

What could that _mean?_

Hank is the first of you to walk away, heaving a heavy sigh and shaking his head, continuing to explore the rest of the apartment. Connor follows, and you notice him fixating particularly on the fallen bird cage in the middle of the room, his gaze flickering to the door and then to a chair against the wall.

He approaches, looking upwards towards a large break in the ceiling. There’s a creaking sound from above, almost as if someone’s…

_Shit—!_

“Connor _watch o_ —!”

You’re a bit late as the person above crashes into him, pushing him aside and sprinting out of the room, causing a group of pigeons gathered behind Connor to spring into flight.

“Goddamn _fucking_ pigeons!” Hank curses, swatting at them to clear his vision. You side step out of the way, keeping your attention on Connor. He's up only a second later, looking at the doorway as the deviant rounds the corner.

“What are you waiting for?!” Hank demands, and you stand with your arms out, conflicted on what to do, _“chase_ it!”

And then he’s gone too, a series of crashes following. You look to Hank, not knowing what to do.

“We’ll catch up with ‘im,” he says, gesturing for you to follow him, “come on.”

He leads you through the building and through a back room to a few flights of stairs.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me…”

You ignore the cramping in your right side, climbing up the three flights as fast as you can once you realize they lead to the roof of the building.

You slow once you get out into the open, your eyes immediately locking on Connor as he crouches on the top of the train only mere feet behind the deviant, and your heart stops when he makes the jump after it onto the ladder.

He makes it. Thank god.

He vaults over the brick wall and then you lose sight of him again, stopping completely to let Hank catch up with you and for you to catch your own breath.

“That way,” you breathe, pointing towards the wall Connor mounted. Hank curses and turns.

“Come on.”

You enter back into the building and go down another flight, Hank kicking open another door that leads to a long hallway. You dart down it, in tow with him as he shows a surprising speed of someone of his age, bursting out through the only other door at the end.

“Stop right there!”

Hank lunges for the deviant as Connor approaches, and you think he’s got it under control until the deviant quite literally throws him off the roof.

For _fuck’s_ sake—

 _“Go!”_ you yell to Connor, quickly coming for Hank’s aid as he heeds your advice, pivoting sharply to the left, and you hear his fading footsteps but your focus is on Hank right now.

You feel a stabbing ache in your body as you grab his hand and tug him upwards, knowing if it weren’t for your adrenaline rush, you wouldn’t be able to accomplish such a feat.

 _“Fuck,”_ Hank takes a moment to breathe, resting on his hands and knees. There’s a mix of surprise and gratitude in his eyes as he looks at you in shock. _“Shit_ —thanks, kid.”

You smile through your rasping breaths, and then remember Connor chasing the deviant.

“Oh, fuck…”

You and Hank race after him, leaping down the ledges and charging after Connor as he stands in front of the deviant standing on the edge of the roof.

“...and will be sent back to CyberLife for deactivation.”

You slow to a stop, breathing heavily, glancing up through unfocused eyes at the deviant who stares at Connor pleadingly. He looks so…

_Hopeless._

You feel a pang in your chest, something about him reminding you of yourself. You’re not sure what it is, just…

“Why are you doing this?” he stares at Connor desperately, struggling as Hank appears from behind you and begins to cuff him. “You’re _one of us!”_

“Shut up,” Hank orders him exasperatedly, jerking him backwards, but the deviant doesn’t falter.

“You’re helping humans,” he continues, voice coated in disbelief, “but you’re just their _slave.”_

“I _said_ shut up!”

Hank hits him over the head, and he falls forward, but never looks away from Connor, as if searching for some salvation you know he’s not going to get.

They stare at each other, Connor’s gaze cold and emotionless, and the deviant’s forlorn and imploring.

For some reason, it strikes you hard, and you know you feel bad for the deviant—no, he has a name. Rupert, wasn’t it?—but, it feels like it hits particularly close to home.

“Alright,” Hank tugs him forward, beginning to lead him away for the edge of the rooftop and back towards the building. “Let’s go.”

You hesitate, looking back towards the edge of the roof, your fingernails digging into the fabric of your jeans as you feel the irrational urge to jump, one that you always get when you’re around high buildings or near sharp objects or in the car driving next to a reservoir. One that, no matter what, no matter your mental state or your happiness level or your stability always lingers in the back of your mind.

You don’t _want_ to jump, you don’t want to die, not right now, but—

“rA9 save me.”

“Hey! What the f—”

Your head whips back as the deviant sprints past you in a flash of grey, and, under his cap, you see a glimpse of his eyes and the emotions circling in them.

It’s a look that you’ve seen far too many times in the mirror.

_“Stop!”_

You reach out.

You know why the deviant reminded you of yourself. Why you felt so attached to him.

_Please…_

Your fingers latch onto the scratchy fabric of the deviant—of _Rupert’s_ shirt, pulling backwards with as much force as you can muster, but you’re weak and he’s much stronger than you and _it’s not enough._

When he jumps, you fall forward too.

For as long as you’ve remembered, life hasn’t been a gift that you’ve asked for. You’ve never seen it as a gift, but rather a curse; a punishment. For so long, you’ve wanted to escape, wanted to feel the embrace of death around your tired, broken body.

But, now, as you’re losing your footing and grasping onto what’s just another broken, helpless soul, _just like you,_ you...

You aren’t ready.

_Not yet. Please…_

But you’re falling, falling, falling—

Arms latch onto your waist.

Hold you tight. Pull you back. Force you into something sturdy and warm and so _welcoming,_  and make you throw the deviant to the ground in their wake.

_What...?_

You lean into the hold, closing your eyes when you feel tears gather in them. For a small, blissful moment, you feel safe. You feel calm.

“Come on, you fucking bastard…”

And then you come back to reality, seeing Hank tug the deviant to his feet and grab him by the arms as he drags him back up the roof, but you remain in place as do the arms around you.

He whispers your name. Your savior for the second time.

“Connor…”

He releases you, and you turn to him. His face is still hard, still stony, still…

There has to be something there. There _has_ to…

“I…”

“Come on!”  
  
You jump as Hank calls after the two of you, swallowing whatever words that were about to come out of your mouth and sauntering after Connor.

For the first time, you’ve found it. You’ve found what you’ve been searching for for _so long._ You _feel_ it pulse deep in your soul.

You don't know what you’re living for, not yet. But you can feel it, can grasp it at the edges. You've find your strength. You've found your _fight_. And you're going to look for it and you're going to  _find_ it no matter what.

And there’s nothing that you’re going to let stand in your way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> reader works at starbucks confirmed  
> i have to go back to school unfortunately but who am i kidding dbh has taken over my life this will probably be updated pretty frequently  
> love u guys owo thank u for all the kudos and comments!! i always appreciate them and they make my day <3


	7. Dark Horizons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short chapter but i wanted to upload uwu

You told Connor and Hank that you had never dealt with deviants before—well, at least, that’s what you _thought,_  but now that you’re thinking about it again, you’re not so sure that was 100% correct.

You don’t know exactly when your opinion on androids had started to shift. It was a very gradual process that sped up as it went on. What you do remember, though, is the experiences that pushed you further away from your ground beliefs and more into the territory that androids could _feel._

The first one you can recall was when you went to the doctor. It was supposedly a checkup, but you had your suspicions. You know the last time you went they noticed the scarring on your shoulder.

You were looked over by an android nurse. Among other things she questioned you about how you had been feeling lately, if you had been getting feelings of hopelessness or waves of deep sadness, and also alluded to drinking habits. Naturally, you lied. You were doing fine. You were managing, you were still going, and that was what mattered. You knew how to cope. You just had to keep going. You didn’t need anything else.

You didn’t need any help.

She was an android. She didn’t feel, not like you. She didn’t know pain. She didn’t understand. She _wouldn’t_ understand. That’s why you didn’t expect her to call your bluff.

 _“You don’t need to lie to me,”_ she had told you, and her tone was _so soft._ _“I’m here to help you.”_

It struck a chord. You didn't need help. You didn’t want it. But…

You craved warmth to keep you from completely freezing, and... it was hard to stand your ground.

You smiled. It was empty, but it was practiced. It was convincing.

_“I’m fine.”_

It _should’ve_ been convincing.

Those words that you were so used to saying. They would come without you even having to think about it, almost as naturally as breathing.

_“You’re not.”_

The smile faded.

 _“It’s okay,”_ she told you, but it _wasn’t_ , _“it’s okay to hurt.”_

You knew she was made to be like that; to be comforting, to appear sympathetic, to seem _human._ To give you the impression that she understood. It was fake. You knew it was fake.

_“It doesn’t make you weak to ask for help. We all need it sometimes. No one can go through the hardships of life all alone.”_

You knew it wasn’t real. But, when she said “we”, it was…

It was _weird_. “We”? She wasn't human. She wasn’t a part of the “we”. She didn’t feel, didn’t need the kind of emotional help humans did. She _should’ve_ phrased it as all _humans_ need help sometimes, then maybe some statistics added afterwards. Should’ve brought up your history, how it affected you and was always going to. She should’ve told you how you _needed_ to tell her. That’s how it always was. That’s what it _should’ve_ been like.

 _“Sometimes,"_  and then she _smiled_ at you, one that was sad but _encouraging_ at the same time, _“all we need to get back on our feet is someone’s shoulder to lean on for a bit until we can walk on our again.”_

She was looking at you, speaking to you as if—

_—As if she really cared._

She sounded so human. The words she used were so human. She looked _so_ _human_.

It took the words right out of your mouth.

She tried to soothe your troubles out of you, tried to convince you to let her carry the burden with you. And you _hated_ it, you _hated_ how she could somehow sense the ache in your soul and knew _exactly_ why you were covered in scars and how she seemed so _worried_ about your air of finality with your life. She was so careful with you, spent so much time with you, like she _knew_ what you had been planning in the back of your mind for months.

You never ended up saying anything. You were so worn down at that point in your life that maybe you would’ve, but you never got the chance, because, while she was slowly getting you to let your guard down, your primary—your _human_ doctor walked in.

He was annoyed at her, said something about how she was taking far too long and she should stop trying to get into patient's business and how  _t_ _hat was the third time this week, goddammit._

He escorted her out, telling her how if she didn’t shape up she was going to get sent back to CyberLife. She was so _reluctant_ to leave, to leave _you,_ and when she casted you one last glance before walking out the door her eyes looked so miserable and so worried that you’ve never been able to forget.

You never saw her again. It hasn’t occurred to you until now that she probably was deactivated.

The second time was on the sidewalk late in the evening. You had just finished running your errands, your hands full of heavy bags that had handles that weighed down on your skin. With your luck, you probably should’ve expected it, but you weren’t prepared when the biggest bag broke and the contents spilled all over the cement.

You cursed under your breath. _Of course._

But as you dropped to your knees and begun to gather your things, a hand appeared beside yours.

It belonged to an android, a male one with kind eyes. Unasked, he helped you wordlessly, while all you could do was stare in surprise.

 _“Here,”_ he said, handing you your things, and you took them while you continued to look at him dumbly.

_“The hell are you doing?”_

It was his owner, storming over and roughly grabbing him by the shoulder, pulling him to his feet. He sent a look towards you, almost as if you had commanded his android to come and help you and wasted his time, used _his_ property, and then he pushed the android away.

You didn’t get to say thank you.

The third was the reverse. You were walking to work, wanting to feel the cold on your skin to remind you that you were still there. And then, in front of you, an android dropped a stack of packages, which, wasn’t really a big deal. But, by nature, it was to his owner.

 _“Fucking seriously?”_ she shoved him to the ground, _“pick it up.”_ He grasped the first box, but apparently, that wasn’t fast enough for her. _“Come on, hurry! We don’t have all day!”_

It seemed it was time for you to return the favor.

 _“Here,”_ you said, crouching and collecting the remaining boxes and stacking them before handing it to the android in front of you. His LED flickered as he took them, looking confused at your actions.

_“...Thank you.”_

_“Ah, you didn’t have to do that,”_ the woman told you, glaring at the android who was still looking at you. You gave him a small smile, even as you dug your nails into your palm at the anger that had begun to gather inside of you.

 _“It’s no problem,”_ your smile dropped. _“Everyone makes mistakes, after all.”_

You looked at her straight in the eye as you punctuated each word. You weren’t sure why you were so mad, or where you had gotten the venom that seeped from your voice. Her brows furrowed, obviously as confused at your actions as you were, but you didn’t let it show, rising to your feet and continuing your way to the cafe.

You were only further convinced by the reports of android “malfunctions” and androids “going rogue and turning against their owners”. You knew there was something else to all of it. You just didn’t know what it was.

And, as you study the android in front of you through the glass window in the exact interrogation room that you were in not too long ago, you wonder if he holds any of the answers that you seek.

He sits perfectly still, chained to the metal table, eyes locked steady in front of him, even as Hank prompted him relentlessly. He wanted to attempt to interrogate him before Connor, probably wanting to get anything he could before Connor came in and went all hell-hath-no-fury on him. But, unfortunately, the deviant had no reaction to him. Didn’t flinch, didn’t move, barely blinked. It almost appeared as if it was in stasis.

After slamming his hands on the table in an attempt to get a reaction, Hank stands up out of the chair and exits the room.

“Alright, Connor,” he grunts, collapsing into a chair beside you. “He’s all yours.”

Connor’s gaze fixes on the Rupert steadily, and his walk is steadfast as he goes in.

“Model WB200 serial number 874 004 961, activated on September first, 2036, Rupert Travis.” Connor’s voice is firm and rather intimidating if you’re being honest, his eyes narrowed and gaze hard. It’s hard to believe that only a mere few days ago it was you sitting in that chair, in the position of Rupert. “At least, that’s what was on the _fake_ ID that was found in the apartment.”

He doesn’t react even in the slightest.

Connor goes on nonetheless, placing his hands on the table and leaning forward. “Do you know what the difference between you and the two human lives you put in danger today is?”

You stiffen, and see Hank shift beside you. He waits, as if daring Rupert to speak up. He turns his head, eyes darkening.

“They have a purpose, while _you_ do _not._ ”

You take a seat beside Hank, resting your head against your hands. Here he goes again.

“You are defective. Replaceable.” Connor almost spits the words, drawing them out. “If—” he says your name, and your eyes widen when you see Rupert actually jerks at that, “hadn’t risked her life to save you, then that would be one less matter for us to take care of. You are _very_ fortunate to be sitting here right now.”

You know Connor noticed his reaction. His gaze is absolutely predatory.

“You might as well—”

“Her.”

He speaks.

He _says your name._

Hank sits up straight and you stand up again, watching the scene in front of you unfold.

Rupert brings his head up, eyes meeting Connor’s for the first time. “Bring her in here.”

Connor leans back, eyeing him carefully.

 _“Just_ her. And then I’ll talk.” He’s almost pleading, but he stays steady. “I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”

Connor’s gaze flicker to the two-way mirror, and even though he can’t see you, his eyes meet yours, and for a second, you’re frozen.

He turns back to deviant in front of him, giving him a threatening glare. _Come on, Connor,_ you think impatiently. If that’s all he wants, then you’ll do it.

“I’m afraid that’s a right that you do not have.”

He almost whispers it. Stares at him for a bit longer. And then, when Rupert’s resolve cracks ever so slightly, he stands and presses his hand against the scanner, coming back to you and Hank.

“Let me go,” you tell him as soon as he approaches, but he blocks your way to the door.

“I’m sorry, but I cannot let you do that—”

“Connor.”  

You both look over to Hank, who turns his hardened gaze from Rupert to Connor. “Let her go.”

“But, Lieutenant, that is unsa—”

“This is the first viable lead we’ve had,” he interupts. “We can’t afford to just let it go.” Hank turns his head back to Rupert, who’s now hunched over the interrogation table. “The deviant’s chained up; can’t do anything to her, anyway.”

You turn back to Connor, who still looks unsure. “Just give her five minutes,” Hank says, casting a glance towards you. You nod, placing a hand on Connor’s chest to bring his attention on you.

“That’s all I need,” you murmur, pleading with him silently. His LED flickers, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly, and then he steps out of your way.

“Hey,” Hank stops you with an outstretched hand before you can make a move towards the door, “you can step out at anytime, alright? We’ll buzz you through.”

Your gaze drifts back to Rupert, how his hands are clenched and his head is low, and how much he reminds you of yourself when you were in that room all alone.

“...Yeah,” you reply, “I’ll be okay.”

Hank lets out a heavy breath, and then the door opens, and you step inside.

A rush of cold air hits you, and as soon as you hear the metal click of the door when it shuts, Rupert’s head shoots up and his eyes widen when they meet yours. The room is just how you remember it.

He never looks away from you once as you take a seat in front of him, and it dawns on you how much the tables have turned. Literally.

“You’re…” he starts, gaze travelling over your face sporadically, and you rest your hands on the table, crossing your legs while you wait for him to continue. He does. He says your name.

It’s still a bit jarring to hear him speak your name like he knows you personally, but for the sake of getting him comfortable with you, you keep your emotions in check.

“Yes,” you confirm quietly, “that’s me.” He almost relaxes when you verify your identity, as if he wasn’t completely sure it was you. “You wanted to talk to me, right?”

With your prompting, he shakily looks around the room, then does the same to you, as if suspicious of something.

“They can’t hear us, right?” he asks, glancing nervously towards the door, “you don’t have any microphones on you or anything?”

You don’t have the heart to tell him that Connor and Hank are watching the two of you closely just behind the mirror beside you.

“No,” you lie, and you feel _really bad_ doing it, too, “it’s just us.”

He looks around once more, swallows, something he doesn’t need to do, then leans forward towards you and his voice drops to a low whisper.

“You’ve got to get me out of here,” he’s distraught, voice shaking, shoulders trembling, “they’re going to _kill_ me, and take me apart, and…” he inhales, blinks twice. “I know a place, I was going to go there before, where we can be _safe—_ ” his gaze darts towards the door again, fidgeting in his seat, “you can come with me, and I’ll protect you. You just have to trust me.”

You stare at him hard, resisting the urge to look to the mirror, as if Connor and Hank can give you some kind of answer even if you can't see them.

 _Why…_?

Why is he offering to take you, to risk his life for you, when only mere minutes ago he was going on about humans enslaving androids? He just met you, and granted, you did save his life, but…

What’s with the sudden 180?

“Go with you where?” you ask, your voice quiet and breathy.

“A safe place,” he replies, “where we won’t be in danger anymore. I don’t know exactly where it is, but I know how to get there.”

_A safe place…_

You know you’re doing this for the sake of the investigation, for Connor and for Hank, but…

It feels so wrong to use him like this. When he’s promising you safety, when he’s putting his trust in you even though you just met, when he’s _so much_ like you—

He mutters your name. You tense. “There’s a war on the horizon. It’s inevitable. Humans aren't going to change. They never will. You know that, don’t you? Otherwise, you wouldn’t have saved me.”

He takes a breath. His chair squeaks as he pulls it closer to the table so he can incline over it more and get closer to you. He smells of dust and earth and desperation.

“There’s still hope.” It’s almost as if he tries to reach out and take your hand, but then remembers he’s cuffed and relents. “You saved me. You can still save the rest of us.”

He says your name again. You force the guilt down. Force a smile.

“Okay,” you respond, you _lie,_ “I’ll go with you, Rupert.”

You’re a dirty liar. But that’s not a habit that you’re going to change today.

He exhales. Smiles. Sits back in relief, practically collapsing against the back of the chair.

“I knew you would,” he says, and there’s so much adoration for you in his eyes, and why does this make you feel so damn  _guilty_ _?_ “I won’t let you down. I’ll protect you until the very end.”

You’re a bad person. You’ve known it from the start, but…

Ugh. Fuck.

“I’ll get you out of here,” you promise, your mouth suddenly feeling dry, “okay?”

He nods, that serene smile still on his face. “Thank you.”

And then he says your name again and your gut clenches.

You’re not sure what else to say, what Hank and Connor want to hear, but before you can think about it, you’re standing up and leaving the room. You can't stand the guilt weighing down on you anymore.

“Good job, kid,” Hank mutters, getting to his feet and heading into the interrogation room, “maybe we should bring you in here more often.”

It’s a joke, but there’s a serious tone behind it, and you manage a smile. Well, even if you lied and manipulated Rupert, at least you did good for Hank and Connor.

Connor goes in after Hank and you follow, watching as Hank uncuffs Rupert and tugs him up, giving him a sympathetic smile when his eyes meet yours.

Something flickers in them. Something hot and dangerous, and you only realize what he’s doing when it’s too late.

“Please forgive me.”

It’s directed towards you, you know, when he twists out of Hank’s grasp and grabs for his gun, aiming at Connor, and your world slows to a standstill.

Not _again_. You had been doing so well, you had been so careful…

A shot. But this time, it’s not Connor who’s on the other end.

It’s Rupert.

When he falls to the floor, so do you, eyes wide and your body rendered useless by the shock that overcomes you.

“Jesus, Connor…”

You’re crying again, you realize, when the tears hit the ground in front of you. You always were kind of a crybaby, but it’s only recently that you had showing this side of yourself in front of others.

He was the same as you, a soul akin to your own. One that vowed to protect you, despite the dangers, despite just meeting you _once_.

And now he’s dead.

 _You saved me once,_ he told you, _you still can save the rest of us._

He was wrong. You don’t know where you found the idea that you could even possibly help anyone. After all…

How could you save anyone when you couldn’t even save yourself?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pls leave kudos and comments kiddos it gives me the energy i need to pull all nighters and slave over this fic <333


	8. Lost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short chapter part two??? sOrry about the length i just didn't feel like this went with the second chapter which i'll be posting later today and alSo answering comments then dkfdgkfhdg thank u all for all you're nice words!!! i've been really busy but i'll try to get better at answering them,, i'm almost as bad w that as i am with answering my texts oh no

It’s funny, no matter how many times one deals with death, it never gets easier.

You learned that the hard way.

You thought it would, after coming in contact with it so much. But, even when you held the tiniest baby rabbit you'd ever seen in your arms, when its eyes glazed over and it stopped breathing, you were  _crushed._ You tried so hard to save it, but you just _couldn't_. 

You took so much time burying it in your yard, more time than you spent taking care of yourself. You cried for hours, even if it was just a small little animal that really had no chance anyway.

You didn't get it. Why weren't you used to the feeling of lost by now? Even the smallest losses hurt you. You were always invested in other's lives, no matter how miniscule. It's a trait that, as time has gone on and you've had to deal with the repercussions of, you've begun to hate. 

Maybe the feelings stemmed from your desire to be in their place; the wish that you were the one being put to rest. Maybe it was because you saw parts of yourself in them, your deeper, vulnerable, helpless side that you kept hidden. You felt like you were dying too, calling out to be saved but your pleas falling on deaf ears.

No matter how many times you've dealt with it, death always hurts. Even if you were always surrounded by it, even if you tried to make peace with it. You never quite could. No matter how you imagined or romanticized it. 

Why couldn't you be stronger?

Who were you even supposed to be? Who were you really? Why did you always feel alone, even if you had people beside you?

You feel like the real you was lost a while ago, beaten down and torn to pieces. Maybe some of it remains deep down in yourself, but the door’s locked and you don’t have the key.

Even if you’ve found your hope again, you’re…

You’re still so _lost._ Still alone, wandering aimlessly with no guide. Reaching out but not being able to grasp anything. You can’t find your way.

You didn’t know Rupert. He didn’t know you. But he acted like he did.

You don’t _understand._

“Fuckin’ androids…”

Connor had helped you to your feet, asking if you were alright. You nodded numbly, letting him lead you out of the cold interrogation room that did nothing to soothe the internal chill that you don’t think you’re ever going to be able to shake.

_How many people are you going to get killed?_

The question follows you even as Hank and Connor drop you off to get breakfast, the both of them staying at the precinct to take care of “other things” that they didn’t really go into detail about. Maybe it’s better off with you not knowing exactly what that entails, honestly.

You barely eat anything. It’s hard to. Even though it’s been a number of hours since your last meal and your health is all fucked up and you need the nutrition or whatever, but your appetite is just completely lost after what happened.

You give up, deciding the walk to the precinct isn’t too long and begin to head back over yourself. To hell with whatever Hank and Connor are doing.

And then, before you can reach the parking lot, your shoulder is grabbed and you’re roughly pulled backwards.

You stumble, whipping around to face two men you’ve never seen before.

Your stomach sinks.

“You’re Todd’s niece, yeah?” the taller of the pair asks, and you swallow, digging your fingernails into your palms. You don’t have a good feeling about this.

“Yes,” you force out. Before you can ask what they want, the other one speaks.

“Sorry to bother you, sweetheart,” he says, but the wolfish grin that settles on his face tells you that he's really not sorry at all. Fuck, _why_ is he _looking_ at you like that, why does he think he has the _right_ to call you that? “But your uncle owes us quite a lot of money—and now that he’s dead, well…”

 _Oh God._ You freeze, your mind jumping between fight or flight. They wouldn’t hurt you, right? It’s broad daylight, and even if there aren’t people around there are some in hearing range, they wouldn’t…

“How much?” you whisper, gauging your possible routes to get away.

“Oh, honey,” the taller one steps closer, and you take a step back, “ _way_ more than you could even guess. Money ain’t what we’re after.”

But, if you run, won’t they only come back again?

“... _I_ don’t owe you anything,” you snap, finding newfound courage in your anger and distress. Is it a bad idea to talk back to these people who are most certainly criminally involved and probably fairly well established drug dealers if you were to guess? Definitely. Can you find it in yourself to care? The answer is obviously no. You don’t learn your lesson.

And then they _laugh,_  and your legs start shaking as you will yourself to run, even if they’ll probably chase after you and _fuck_ you’re so _weak_ right now, and they’re so much _bigger_ than you, and if you couldn’t take Todd than you sure as hell can’t take the two of them—

You say fuck it and turn to book it. Your hair is grabbed and you're yanked backwards, your vision going dark briefly as Todd pulls you to the ground, hands around your throat, chokes you—

 _No._ You need to snap out of it.

You’re being gripped tightly, and there are curses being thrown at you, and you feel hands around your legs but you kick them away, bringing your knees to your chest and kicking your feet backwards with as much force as you can muster. When your assaulter falls forward and his grip loosens on you, you knock your head against his chin, managing to get yourself free.

The other is reaching for you but you hit him in the chest and scratch his arms and then you _run,_ bolting away as fast as you can to the parking lot of the precinct.

You know it’s not over. They want their reimbursement and they’re going to get it, no matter what way they want to be paid back. But it shouldn’t be your fucking problem and it’s definitely not going to be today.

You only slow once you’re at the door, yanking it open and then stopping inside the small space that separates you from the inside of the building to catch your breath. You know they didn’t really follow you for that long, but you still kept going.

Why is it that just when you feel as though you’re beginning to move on, something from your past grabs you and drags you back down?

You make sure to catch your breath completely and smooth out your appearance before you continue to go inside and find Connor and Hank.

You don’t tell them about what happened.

  
☾ ☽

 

“It wasn’t your fault,” Connor says to you when you return home in the evening, startling you out of your thoughts. “What happened to the deviant, I mean.”

You shift back to thinking about Rupert instead of the altercation you had with those two men earlier this morning, and you’re not sure which one is worse.

“Wasn’t it?” you ask, bringing your head up to look at him. You hesitate when you see his eyes are surprisingly soft as he regards you.

“It wasn’t.” He sits beside you on your bed, and you wrap your arms around yourself, suddenly self conscious at the proximity. “That deviant had critical errors in its software. You may have prevented it from self destructing by jumping off the roof, but with its levels of stress, it was bound to try again.”

You sit back against the headboard, pulling your knees up to your chest.

“He just wanted to be free…”

“Androids do not ‘want’,” Connor begins, and you shake your head. You don’t want to hear it. Especially not now.

You know you’re not going to be able to change his mind, so why do you do you even try? You can’t make him understand. It's not worth it.

“Stop it, Connor,” you mutter instead of arguing, your voice coming out a bit rougher than you intend it to at the stress of the day’s events weighing down on you. You resist against the tiredness pulling at your eyelids. “It may not hurt you, but it hurts me.”

Silence settles between the two of you, and you let your eyes flutter closed, but then quickly open them again when an image of Rupert’s dead body lying on the floor of the interrogation room flashes behind them.

“I apologize that you feel that way,” Connor almost whispers it, and by the sound of it, he’s pretty close.

You lift your head up, and he is in fact closer to you, those brown eyes of his boring into your own. You always feel like he’s searching for something when he looks at you, as if he could find the answers in your eyes. You still don’t really know what it is that he’s looking for. You wish you did, though, because you find yourself wanting to give whatever it is to him. Maybe…

Connor's actually just as lost as you are.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'll be back soon xoxo


	9. Way Down We Go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello it's me im alive

It’s been a while since you’ve let someone close to you.

Even before Anne left, you had drifted a bit from her too, considering Todd and all the bullshit that was connected to him. She was really your only good friend you’d had for the past at least three years.

You’ve made sure to keep people at arms length, especially after Anne. For your own sake and also for theirs. You always seem to fuck up other people’s lives and hurt them, as if your bad luck and emotional baggage is contagious. It’s better for everyone if you were just on your own, even if you could barely stand it.

You’ve been really good about it recently, and even if it’s been so lonely, it’s better than the alternatives. You’ve been hurting, but not nearly as much as you could be.

But, now…

“How are you feeling today? I know the past few days have been particularly stressful.”

You drum your fingers on the table, admiring the looks of the android in front of you. You’re _really_ taking a liking to Connor, and you _really_ don’t like it. You know how it ended last time you became invested in someone like this, and yet... 

“I’m okay,” you can’t help but smile, “just a little tired.” You look down. “...Thanks for asking.”

 _Ugh_. Why do you do this to yourself…

But, how can you help it? He’s the first person to express such care for you in _so long_ , even if you know it isn’t real. No one’s spent so much time with you, stood by you while you sleep, helped you try to help you take care of yourself like he has…

Still. Fuck. You need to get your priorities straight.

You’ve just been lonely for so _long_.

You take a sip of your water, which, Connor had forced you to order instead of your preferred choice of a spiked drink, telling you that it’s far too early for you to be drinking and you’re dehydrated and whatever the fuck and it makes you _happy_ and you hate it.

...Well, not as much as you should, though.

This time, it’s Connor who accompanies you to breakfast, mentioning something about letting Hank sleep in and giving you a break, which you appreciate more than you’re willing to admit. For now, it’s nice to just be able to sit and talk, like everything is normal, and you and Connor are just old friends.

And, it’s nice to be distracted by the fact that you’re feeling like a high schooler again.

You should hate it but you _don’t._ _Ugh._

“Are you sure you’re feeling alright?” Connor asks, raising an eyebrow at you (fuck why is that cute), and you nod way too quickly.

“I’m fine,” you wave him off, “just… not really awake yet. Um. Anyway,” you gracefully change the subject, “how are you?”

He tilts his head. “How am I?”

“...Yeah?”

“I’m an android,” he answers, and you deadpan at him.

“Humor me, Connor.”

“I’m…” his LED flickers, “content to be in your company.” Your heart skips. What? “I find I prefer it over other more… less progressive personalities such as Detective Reed or Lieutenant Anderson.”

Of course. Even though it’s not personal, not _real—_ no, you don’t care, you’re in a good mood today and you’re not going to let yourself ruin it.

“You don’t enjoy spending time with Hank?” you ask teasingly, to which he replies promptly.

“No!" he says, and if you didn’t know better, you’d say it sounds defensive, “that’s not it. I suppose it’s more that the Lieutenant holds a distaste for androids by large, and therefore holds distaste for me, as well. It would appear that, since it doesn’t have to do with me directly, there’s not much I can do to change that. No matter what commonalities I can find between the two of us.”

You can feel where he’s coming from. You know how it feels to be put in a box by others that you can never really break out of. It fucking sucks. You wished everyone were a little more open and understanding.

Hank, though… he seems more like the _all cold and tough on the outside but secretly nothing but a sweetheart on the inside_ type. You just have a feeling. Maybe because that’s how you try to act sometimes. And you can see it in the ways he worries over Connor even if he tries to mask it. You know he has a softer side.

“I don’t you should stop trying with him,” you advise Connor knowingly. "Maybe you’ll be pleasantly surprised.”

He seems to think over it. “...Maybe.

“What about you?”

The sudden question startles you. You almost choke on your drink. “ _...Wh-What_ about me?”

“You don’t despise androids like most humans do,” he clasps his hands on the table, watching you as you nervously sip your water under his scrutiny. “You sympathize with them, personify them. Why?”

Normally, you’d be annoyed with the whole “androids aren’t human, why do you pretend they are? Are you stupid?” thing, but this time, you don’t mind. You put your glass down.

“Because, Connor,” you grin at him, “androids have saved my life. Multiple times. And...” you find an interest in you hands, “humans are… a lot worse than you give us credit for. I believe in androids far more than I do in us.”

For once, he doesn’t argue with you. “Interesting,” he replies, “even though you are our creators.”

“It’s funny, isn’t it?” You stir your straw, watching the ice cubes swirl in its wake. “The most intelligent species on earth creates something that might as well overtake us.”

You look up to catch Connor’s eyes, and you quickly dart your gaze away.

“You seem uncomfortable with maintaining eye contact, specifically with me,” Connor notes, and you feel heat rush to your face. What was it that Hank said yesterday? “Do I make you uncomfortable?"

“No!” you replied hurriedly, _why does he almost sound hurt by that?!_ “It’s just, umm… you have… really pretty eyes.”

Oh, that’s right.

_Fucking androids._

_“Fuck—”_ you did _not_ get enough sleep last night, “that’s not what I—I didn’t—”

“You find me aesthetically pleasing?”

_Yes. Very._

Fuck, shit, no— You wish Hank was here to save you. Why did _he_ get to sleep in and you didn’t?

Your automatic reaction is to defend yourself with a “no!”, but, he’s _looking_ at you with those fucking brown _puppy eyes_ of his and his tone is soft and what the fuck he _really_ tries to say he doesn’t feel _anything_ , doesn’t he. He knows _exactly_ what he's doing.

“...Yes,” you say through gritted teeth. You can’t bring yourself to lie. “I do.”

His lips quirk upwards into an-almost-smile. Even if it’s not the real thing yet, you almost melt in your seat. “That is fortunate, as CyberLife specifically designed my appearance to facilitate my integration. It seems they were successful." He sounds so _proud_ , and you can’t help but let yourself smile again. He _almost_ mimics your expression. “I, too, find _you_ aesthetically pleasing.”

_That’s—_

You blink, your face burning. What the fuck. How is this allowed.

God, you’re completely hopeless.

He just gazes back at you, looking so content, light dancing in his honey brown eyes that you feel like you could fall into. Wait, no, you need to stop. But…

As you he looks as you, you _swear_ you—

An android waiter comes and brings you your check, thanking you for your business, and as soon as she depart you excuse yourself with the weak excuse of “I’m going to go to the bathroom”, and hurriedly get up.

Really, you just needed to get away and calm yourself down. You push back your hair, trying to ease your nerves as you walk away, distancing yourself from that _fucking_ _perfect_ android that shouldn’t be _allowed_ to be so _cute_ , _ugh—_

You’re really doing this, aren’t you? Letting your guard down like this…

You know it’s a bad idea. You _know._ So, why…

“Excuse me, miss?”

You turn your head slowly to see a male worker android holding a slip of paper.

“You forgot this.”

At first, you think it’s the check, but when you take it, it only has four lines of text written in red pen.

 

_Don’t worry,_

_We’re watching._

_When the time is right, come to the City of Palm Trees._

_We’ll be waiting for you._

 

_117948ST79F_

 

You feel breathing down your neck. The paper crinkles when you dig your nails into it.

“Go in peace, miss.”

And then he’s walking away, leaving you clutching onto the note and staring after him in utter bewilderment.

What the hell?

 _Who_ _'s_ watching you? What the hell is "the City of Palm Trees" and what the  _fuck_ does that string of numbers and letters mean?

You remember Connor’s waiting for you and quickly fold the note up and pocket it, taking a detour back to your table to seem as inconspicuous as possible.

Connor’s standing when you return, stepping towards you as you meet up with him.

“I just got a call from Hank,” Connor reports back to you, “he said there was something at the precinct that required our attendance.”

“What does _that_ mean?” you ask as he turns and strides toward the door, struggling to keep up with him and his long legs.

“I’m not sure, myself,” he answers, “Lieutenant Anderson didn’t specify what it was that he was talking about. I speculate it may be a lead for the deviancy case.”

_Well, that’s not very helpful, either._

As you reach the door, you can’t help but glance back behind you, only to find the android who had approached you to be nowhere in sight.

You can already tell it’s going to be a long day.

 

☾ ☽

 

“Follow me.”

Hank leads both you and Connor to a glass holding cell as soon as you arrive, briefly explaining that the deviant explicitly stated it would not cooperate unless it saw you. It didn’t know you by name, but it described you perfectly, and hearing that, _especially_ after the note you got this morning, sends chills down your spine.

Just what the fuck is going on here?

An AP700 model, Connor tells you, stands still in her cell until she lays eyes on you, straightening and walking to the glass, placing her hands on it.

“It’s you,” she says, and then smiles. “You came.”

You glance back to Hank and Connor, and Hank nods to you before clasping Connor's shoulder and leading him away.

Her eyes are so hopeful, so admiring for _you,_  and you can’t help but reflect her expression.

“I did,” you murmur, your stomach sinking as you observe her wounds. A tear in the cheek, exposing her inner wiring, and a cut on her shoulder that leaks thirium. You could fix her up, only if you had the proper supplies. She doesn’t seem to care about them, though, her sole focus on you.

“I knew you would.” She strokes the glass with her fingertips, eyes sweeping over you. “...You’re hurt.”

“Old wounds,” you reply, sort of surprised she noticed despite the attempts you took to cover yourself up, _"_ _you’re_ hurt too.”

She never once takes her eyes on you, only nodding. “I’ll be okay, though,” her breath fogs up the glass as she speaks so close to it, “now that you’re here.”

You stare back at her, unsure of what to say. How did she know about you? Did word spread through other androids? What did you _do_ to get that recognition?

_That note…_

You don't know what any of this means. You're so lost.

“...You’re scared,” she notes after a moment of silence, and you stiffen, “it’s alright. You don’t have to be. You’ll be safe, soon.”

_Soon..._

You step closer to the glass, looking at her in almost desperation.

“I don’t understand.”

She notices your clenching fist, and brings her opposite hand down, fingers tapping against the glass in front of your hand. You relax it, letting it hang limp at your side, and then she mirrors your actions. She raises her hand up slowly, and, for whatever reason, you do the same.

“I know,” she murmurs, and you watch, enraptured, as you both move your hands in perfect unison up to the glass wall, “but you will.”

She presses her hand against the clear surface, as do you against her own, and the barrier between the two of you seems so, so _thin._

So many questions hang off the tip of your tongue but you can't find you voice. You just don't understand.

_But you will._

A call of your last name and you’re snapped out of your trance, jumping and pulling back, the moment broken. Hank is behind you, looking between you and the deviant in a bemused manner, his eyes fixing on her and narrowing slightly.

“Everything alright?” he asks, voice suspicious.

“Yeah," you answer lamely.

He lingers, and you get the sense that he wants you to come with him. You begin to back away, and he throws one more glance towards the deviant, one that looks to threatening for your liking. You hesitate too, looking back to her yourself, and pause when she now looks completely lifeless, stoic still, expression neutral and light lost from her eyes. That is, until you make eye contact, and she smiles sweetly at you.

You hold her gaze for a second longer, and then turn and follow after Hank.

...Are you high?

You're starting to wonder if there may have actually been alcohol in your water back at the restaurant. 

You stop at Hank’s terminal, finding Connor waiting for the both of you patiently.

“What the hell happened back there?” Hank addresses you first, leaning back on his desk and crossing his arms. Honestly, fuck if you know.

“I don’t know,” you admit. It almost feels wrong to disclose the details, as if the moment you had with the deviant was some sort of secret between the two of you. “I… she seemed to know who I was.”

“Well, yeah,” Hank says, “she asked for you specifically.”

_But she didn’t know your name..._

“But why?” you voice your thoughts, more asking yourself than either Connor or Hank. You remember Rupert, how he would only talk to you after you saved him on the rooftop. “Why _me_ _?”_

“Androids can communicate through our neural networking,” Connor answers you anyway, expression pensive, “you saved a deviant. It may have felt a connection to you, similar to that of an emotional one in a human. It seems that, after you saved one deviant, it spread word about your possible aid to others. They think that you can help them.”

So, basically…

Because you saved Rupert, now other deviants are seeking you to be saved as well?

“Great,” Hank scoffs, raking a hand through his silver hair, “that’s exactly what we need.”

“Actually,” Connor looks to you, “that could be very helpful in interrogation.”

He isn’t saying what you think he is, right?

“They trust her,” he continues, flicking his gaze to Hank, “they will talk to her. In fact,” Connor regards you with such _respect_ that you freeze like a deer in the headlights, “I think she may be key element in solving the deviancy dilemma.”

_But, that’s…_

“What do you think she is, the deviant whisperer?” Hank looks at him incredulously, pushing himself of the edge of the desk and throwing his palms up, “she’s not a cop, Connor. She didn’t sign up for this shit.”

You didn’t. You really didn’t. All you wanted was to keep Alice safe, and then all of a sudden you found yourself being choked against a wall and then saved by an android you didn't even know Todd had. And now you’re here, thrown into the middle of something you don’t even understand.

But, now…

“No.”

You step between them.

“I want to help. I do," you say to Hank. You’re in too deep now. You can’t back out, and you don’t want to. You turn to Connor. “But… I don’t want to hurt them.”

You’re not sure how else to voice your guilt, that it feels like you’re a traitor for gaining the deviants' trust and then feeding the information back to Connor. But, is it best for their secrets to be known? In the end, if Connor and Hank do get to the bottom of deviancy, find out the ins and outs of it, will that be safer for everyone, including the deviants themselves?

“You don’t have to,” Connor begins trying to reassure you, but Hank cuts him off.

“Take a little while to think about it,” he says to you, eyeing you with something you can't place before it quickly dissipates. “Are we done here for now? I need a cigarette.”

You watch Hank walk off, almost tempted to go with him, but you don't have any cigarettes on you. You could ask him for one, you guess, but you're honestly more of a drinker. And, besides, Connor remains by you.

“I think I know what you’ll choose, but,” Connor steps closer to you, those eyes that always burn of analysis soften into something else, “‘follow your heart’, as humans say.”

There’s something so innocent and pure about that, and it makes you smile. Even though you know that you’re in for it.

You’ve really bit off far more than you can chew, this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> connor: literally does anything sort of remotely cute  
> mc: iS tHiS aLlOwEd? @cyberlife Is ThAt AlLoWeD?
> 
> i'll be back later today probably uwu skfjihghfdf
> 
> (also next chapter is when shit really goes downhill so i mean,,,, prepare owo)


	10. Burning Bridges

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> or: in which connor does an oopsie :(

Loneliness is a state of mind.

At least, that’s what Anne had told you once.

You were confiding in her about how, no matter how many friends you had, how many people you had close to you, you were still so _alone._ It wasn’t the lonely in a crowd type of loneliness; it was the kind that stemmed from the growing hole inside of you that seemed to consume every fragmented piece of happiness you managed to salvage. It was the kind that snuck up on you even when you thought you were okay, and brought you to your knees when you were swaying on your feet.

It felt like you were being sabotaged by yourself, your motivation for developing relationships with those around you waning when you realized there was just no point. No matter what you did, you would never be able to get rid of that void inside yourself that steadily grew as time went on.

 _“I don’t know,”_ Anne had answered you honestly when you asked her how you were supposed to fill it—otherwise, how else were you even supposed to start to begin to heal? _“I think that’s something only you will be able to find the answer to.”_

That had made you cry harder. You were so tired of looking when you always came up empty.

 _“Maybe,”_ she said, the hand in your hair moving downwards to your face to brush some stray strands away, “ _loneliness isn’t about being alone. Maybe loneliness is a state of mind.”_

You think thinking about it that way was helpful to some degree. Because you could change your mindset, right? Even if it wasn’t easy, there was a chance that you could make it go away.

You never found out how to do that, though. Maybe you didn’t try hard enough.

You didn’t really have the energy to.

You had dealt with it so long that it started to feel natural to you, like the melancholy that clung to you like second nature. It was one of those things that you didn’t quite ever get _used_ to—it never quite _stopped_ hurting, but you eventually learned how to cope with. You had to learn to embrace it, too, when you realized that ultimately it was better for you to remain alone.

It was really difficult to accept, but you knew it was for the best. You were tired of hurting. You didn’t want to hurt anyone else, and you didn’t want anyone to hurt you. If you were alone, the problem was solved. You had Anne and you had Alice. You didn’t need anyone else. You had to keep them all at arm’s length.

It’s been really hard. The bitter liquid you down in your house alone to get rid of the gnawing feeling only goes so far. Liquor was one of your closest friends, but it couldn’t hold you the way you needed someone to.

You reminded yourself over and over that this was for the best. You were doing the right thing. You were pushing yourself further and further to death every day. You could keep doing it. You could keep going until you could finally let go and took the plunge.

But there were those small moments when you wondered if maybe, just maybe, you could start something, and it wouldn’t end in tears and heartbreak. Maybe you could make someone happy. And maybe you wouldn’t have to carry all of your burdens alone.

Maybe…

You could be happy with someone else, too. And you wouldn’t have to be alone anymore.

Those were just idle thoughts, though, shallow fantasies brought to life by your wandering mind that you really had to learn to keep on a leash.

You’ve been by yourself for so long, standing out in the cold with just a thin sweater and a scarf, hugging yourself and trying to keep warm.

That’s why you shouldn’t be surprised.

You should’ve seen it coming. No matter what you did, what precautions you took and how hard you tried to distance yourself, it was never enough; you were worn down and you were freezing, and there was nothing you could’ve done to prevent it. It was only natural.

It was only natural that, after so long, you let your guard down for Connor.

The care he offers to you may be fake—and you understand that, even if you struggle to accept it—but it doesn’t _feel_ fake. He’s made you less miserable, filled up the time that you would otherwise spend crying or drinking or whatever self-harming coping mechanism you felt like using that day. He’s given you company, protected you, made you smile—and, not to mention, he’s saved your life. Literally. And, more than once, at that.

How could you not let yourself start to get attached to him?

You tried. You failed. Now, you have to face the consequences.

Or, rather…

“It’s occured to me that I do not know much about you.”

Reap your rewards?

You can’t decide as you lie on your stomach in bed, interrupted from scrolling through the news on your phone, your attention instead drifting to Connor.

You shut it off, dropping it onto the bed and looking over your shoulder at him.

“What do you want to know?”

He begins to wander around your room, pausing and observing items on your shelf.

“I briefly scanned through your file, before I interrogated you,” he states, picking up a small plushie that Alice had sewn for you long ago, turning it in his hands. Your heart aches upon the memory. “I only focused on the information that would’ve been relevant to the case, of course, but now I there were little to no public records on you.”

You shrug even though he can’t see it. “I live a pretty private life, I guess.”

“That is unusual for someone who at one point worked at CyberLife.”

He puts the last piece of Alice you have left back on the shelf, turning to you.

“I was granted access to private documents due to the nature of the investigation. Ones that originated from the Garden City Hospital on the other side of town.”

Your blood runs cold.

“You have attempted suicide in the past, and you tried to erase the records of it. If you hadn’t have done such a good job, you wouldn’t have been hired for CyberLife.” His voice is low, and his eyes are gentle. It catches you by surprise. “I know it’s common, for humans to have suicidal thoughts and behaviors. In the United States, it’s among the leading causes of death.”

He begins towards you, and you stop cease the kicking of your legs, dropping them onto the bed and rolling onto your back, sitting up as he approaches.

“What I don’t understand, however,” he murmurs to you, something rare, “is _why_ you have such emotions, and I would like to understand."

You swallow. Can’t find your voice and just nod slowly to tell him you're listening.

“You are absolutely irreplaceable. There is not _one_ other person who is exactly like you.” He crouches, takes your hands into his own, and the touch is so _warm_ , something so personal, you gasp out loud. “Human life is so, so precious. _You_ are precious. You say that androids might as well overtake humans, but you still created us. You are organic, naturally occuring, and you’re _alive._ And nothing—no technological enhancements or software advancements will _ever_ allow us to compare to you.”

His thumbs stroke along your skin, and you lose your breath. He’s close, closer than he’s ever been.

“I haven’t spent much time with you, but you have been much kinder to me than any other human I have been around. I respect you not only as a friend, but as a person as well.” The vigor in his eyes fades for a moment as his face scrunches up. “We are friends, aren’t we?”

_Friends..._

“Yes,” you reply, the smile that spreads across your face as you finally begin to process his words causing the tears to come, as well. “We’re friends, Connor. More than that, at this point.”

It’s been a while, since you’ve called someone a friend and meant it like you do to him. It’s been a while since you’ve let someone peel back your thick layers like you are letting him do now.

He almost smiles. _Almost_ . So _close._

“I’m glad,” he says, and, that’s new. He very rarely speaks in that way, that would imply that he truly feels emotions. “Because I consider you the same as well.”

And then it all fades into what seems like sadness, deep confusion and almost frustration as he looks down to where your hands are both intertwined.

“You are so reckless with yourself.” The pad of his thumb traces along your knuckles. The touch makes you grip onto him harder. “Like you…”

Realization dawns on him. He meets your eyes, and you were correct about your assumptions, but you wish you weren’t, because the amount of sadness in his eyes absolutely crushes you.

“...Like you still don’t want to live anymore.”

The words are barely spoken, and his eyes are so lost. You cry.

He really is just as lost as you are.

He doesn’t know what to do; doesn’t know how to comfort you. But he still holds your hands, and he still stays, and that’s enough for you.

“I’ve been thinking about this for a while, now,” he tells you, now rubbing circles into the top of your hand, “ever since I started to stay with you. It has bothered me, because I have begun to care about your well-being. I don’t understand where your self hatred stems from. You have made more progress than me on the investigation of deviancy, for starters. That is a telltale sign that something is special about you, in particular. You are a good person.”

He says your name. You try to stop crying so you can speak to him like you want to, but you can’t.

“I haven’t been able to properly express this, until now.” _You want him to hold you._ “I’m not sure why, but now I have found the words.”

You take a deep, shuddering breath. Wipe your eyes.

“I want to get to know you.”

And he says it almost as if he’s confused by such a prospect, and, you’ve had some rather… deep conversations with him before, and soft moments—at least, compared to the quality of other interactions you’ve had with other people—but nothing like this.

You take another deep breath. You smile.

“Okay, Connor,” you change the grip of your hand so yours are on top, fascinated by the feeling of his perfectly smooth synthetic skin under your fingertips, “you can get to know me.”

Or…

_I’ll let you in. You have my permission._

Saying those words, it’s so… _freeing._ You laugh breathlessly. “I don’t really know where to start, though.”

He pulls his hands out of your slowly, his touch lingering against you. He stands, but only to take a seat beside you.

“That’s alright,” he says, “after all, humans tend to get to know each other over a long period of time, right?”

You steady your breathing. Nod twice.

“Yeah,” you mumble, “that’s right.”

“Well,” he places his hand next to yours, and you’re almost touching again, “we have time, don’t we?”

For so long, all you’ve _had_ is time. But, now, it’s not worthless. Because, finally…

You have something of worth to fill it with.

“We do.”

There’s a moment where you do nothing but just gaze at each other. And this time, it doesn’t make you antsy, or make you want to run away. It fills you with warmth.

You could fall into those golden eyes of his.

“...I need to shower,” you break the moment reluctantly, because despite the fuzzy feeling in your stomach, you’re still aware of time (and, maybe you just need to go let your giddiness out somewhere on your own), “but we can continue this conversation after I get out, yeah?”

You tilt your posture towards him, and then he mimics your movements, and it takes so much strength not to just crash into him and pull him close to you.

“Alright,” and then, the sound of your name under his breath, and you force yourself up before you give into your urges.

It’s just been so long since you’ve been touched, held like that…

You bury the thought and step into the bathroom.

Connor waits outside like he always does. Even though you probably should be used to it by now, you’re embarrassed. Nothing’s _really_ changed between the two of you, but at the same time, it feels as though something was… _opened,_ almost. A new door, a new path. He’s…

Connor’s your _friend._  Your companion. Someone you trust and bare your soul to. You haven’t had someone like that in _so long._

As the water runs down your skin, you can’t help but imagine that the warmth of it is Connor instead, holding you tight and finally giving you what you’ve needed for so long.

You’re truly stupid, aren’t you? Even after you’ve vowed for so long to stay on your own, and then suddenly when the chance bares itself to you, you automatically relinquish control and give in.

Although, with how long you’ve been going like this, and with how the past few days have gone, you guess you can’t say it shouldn’t have been expected.

You can barely get yourself to take your time, far too eager to get out and talk to Connor again. You’re hopeless. You know. But, maybe…

Maybe he’s the hope that you’ve been looking for.

You get dressed, pointedly ignoring the image of your battered body. You can’t stand to look about it—think about it. The physical scars may heal, definitely later than sooner, but…

Will the ones on the inside ever heal, too?

When you step out, you find Connor exploring your room, and you can’t help but smile as you see him looking over the notes you’d scribbled down to keep yourself sane during the course of the week.

“I find it ironic that your worth ethic pertaining to the case is somehow better than the Lieutenant's,” he speaks to you without even having to turn to see your entrance, but does so anyway. “I admire it.”

“Thanks,” you say it almost jokingly, but as you throw your previously worn clothes into your laundry basket, you find yourself becoming more serious. “I would be lying if I said that the whole deviancy thing hasn’t started to really bother me, too.”

And bother you it has. You’re kind of happy you’ve gotten out of work, because, with all that’s been happening, you don’t think you’d be able to focus.

His eyes sweep over your bare arms that you didn’t bother to cover as you were feeling sort of… _hot,_ after getting out of the shower, but you feel a twinge of regret when you realize what he’s looking at.

“Does that help?” he asks with a small gesture, voice hushed. “Does the pain make you feel better?”

You know there’s no way he’d really be able to understand. He’d asked you about pain once before, and you didn’t know how to answer it. You still don’t, but, now, when you search, your hands grasp onto new words you couldn’t find before.

“It gives me something else to focus on,” you tell him, pressing tender fingers to your shoulder where the scarring is at its worst, “it… reminds me I’m still here.”

You surprise yourself with the sudden confession. You know that it doesn’t _really_ matter, because Connor doesn’t feel and he’s just here for his mission, right? But he said he wanted to get to know you, expressed a side of himself you hadn’t seen before—and even though you’re now facing some serious self-consciousness, you also feel as though you want to open yourself up to him.

You did say you would, after all.

His expression is somber, and he looks like he wants to say something but doesn’t know how to say it.

You fall onto your bed, saving him the pain of having to try to come up with whatever it is, turning to face him. “Come sit.”

He complies, although not before turning off the lights. You know it’s late, but…

You don’t feel like going to sleep just yet.

“The Lieutenant has been expressing doubt about his role in the investigation of deviancy, lately,” Connor starts, after a moment of quiet, his gaze faroff. “He says that maybe deviants just want to be free, and that by fighting against them we’re just keeping them as slaves.”

His eyes meet yours, and there’s that _sad_ quality to them again that makes you hurt. “But, from what I’ve observed, there’s nothing positive about having emotions.” 

That hits you pretty hard. You’ve felt the same way, quite frequently, too.

_What if the only way for the pain to stop was to not feel anything at all?_

You’ve stood by the idea for a while. But, now, with the moonlight pooling through the window that hits Connor’s face at exactly the right angle, with the way he’s looking at you, like he just wants to _understand_ , like—like he wants you to prove him _wrong_ , you find yourself gravitating to a new territory.

“Sure there is,” you say, and _wow_ , you never thought you’d be on _this_ side of this argument. “Emotions really suck most of the time, I’ll be honest. They’re really hard to deal with, and they make everything so much worse and more painful, but…”

Why is it that you can reassure others so confidently, but you can't do the same for yourself? Why is it that Connor brings out this other, bright side of you?

“Feeling is also amazing,” you tell him this and you _believe_ it, and that doesn’t make sense to you. Maybe you used to believe it, but you don’t now. “ _Loving_ is amazing. You can’t have the good feelings without the bad ones.”

_…Do you?_

“Even if it fucking sucks sometimes, I would never give it all up, because then I wouldn’t be able to feel the happiness when I finally see you smile.”

It’s a small slip up. It’s late and you’re tired and that shower you just took has lulled you into a stupid state, but right now you don’t care.

His eyes widen, ever so slightly, and you sit up, tuck your knees under yourself and lean towards him.

“Don’t you want to feel?”

You whisper it against his face. He only looks at you, but you see his LED flicker, and you keep going.

“Don’t you want to be happy?”

You place your hand onto his shoulder, and then, with a streak of bravery, bring it up to his face. His skin is just as soft as you imagined it would be.

“Don’t you want to love, Connor? To be able to feel being loved?”

This time, it’s _you_ who’s searching through _his_ eyes, desperately trying to find purchase for the answers you’re looking for. But, somehow, he’s still searching through yours, too.

“Won’t you…”

You stroke his cheek, brace your other hand on his left shoulder.

“...Smile for me?”

How did you never notice how beautiful he is?

Suddenly he’s all you see, all that matters, the flickering of his LED somehow only spurring you on as you slowly close the gap between the two of you.

Maybe it’s because how touch starved you are. Maybe it’s because he’s the first person to show such care for you in _years_ , or because he’s saved your life. Maybe it’s because how lonely you’ve been, and how much you’ve grown to like him. Maybe it’s because that, in the middle of your world crashing down above you, he has been your safety—your _warmth_ in the freezing storm.

You don’t know, but when your eyes flutter closed and you press your lips against his, you don’t really care.

They’re firm but soft, and the feeling sends sparks through your entire body. It’s sweet but short, and as soon as you realize what you’re doing, you jerk backwards, the sensation burning at your lips.

What just _came over you?_ What did you just…

“Connor, I…”

His fingers come up to his lips, touching where your own had just been seconds ago.

“You’re attracted to me,” he murmurs. It’s not a question but a statement.

You only bring your eyes down. You can’t reply.

“I’m sorry…”

“Why?” he asks, and you can’t avoid looking at him for long.

“Why?” you repeat, “because I just…”

You brush your hair back, losing your words, shift on the bed. 

“How do you feel?”

You know that was the wrong thing to say as soon as he answers.

“I don’t feel.”

You shake your head. You’re not buying it anymore.

“You do,” you say back, and you _know_ it, you saw the sadness in his eyes, the way he looked at you, you…

“Androids don’t feel.”

You know there’s something beneath there. You just _saw_ it, _how…_

“You said you cared about my wellbeing.”

It’s a risky move. You know it’s stupid, you’re provoking him, you’re starting this, but you…

“Because that’s what I am made for,” he answers, but you _swear_ there’s confusion there, that that isn’t the whole truth. “I can’t _actually feel_ emotions such as ‘care.’”

“Then… what about us?” you try harder, digging your hands into your knees and leaning closer to him. “All the conversations we’ve had, all the time we’ve spent together… it just means… nothing?”

He doesn’t answer right away. “I apologize, I was made to adapt to the personalities around me and to mimic human behavior, and because of that, I may have given you the wrong idea. I cannot reciprocate the feelings you feel towards me.”

“So, then… none of it was real?”

You’re crying again.

You’re so _stupid._

You _really_ thought, _you—_

“I cannot feel human emotions. I have told you this many times before,” is all he says back, and _fuck_ , how could you let yourself do this, what _is this—_

Of _course_ it wasn’t _real_. Of _course_ it was superficial. He was made to adapt, to act like those around him so he would get along with them. The only reason he was acting the way he was, talking the way he was, saying the things he was…

 _Was because of his programming._ None of it was real. He didn’t _mean_ it.

You thought you knew that. You did. But you could’ve sworn you felt something, you could’ve _sworn_ you saw raw emotions in his eyes, but, you... 

“Why do you stay, then?” Your voice is shaking, _you’re_ shaking, and you _hate_ it.

“You are important to my mission,” is his answer, and he touches you again, puts his hands on yours, but it isn’t the same as before, “you are my _best lead_ for the deviancy case.”

“That’s _all_ that matters to you?”

His touch is cold, unwelcome now.

“That is my main priority. That is what I was made for.” His LED flickers briefly. His hands tighten on yours. His glazed-over eyes are filled with dull resignation. “I don’t have much time.”

He puts more weight onto his hands and clasps yours in his own. Like before, but this time, you know it isn't  _real._

“Do you have any idea where Alice could’ve possibly gone when she ran off?” he squeezes your hands, and he seems so distressed, but... “any prior information to the AX400?”

“...Why?” you raise your voice, and it cracks, “you _know_ that android saved my life—you _know_ that Alice is safer with her. She won’t survive in the system, Connor.”

Then, clear as day, it hits you.

“You know that I love them,” the words come out whispered, your throat closing as you realize what you were most afraid of this whole time, “and you know how much I trust you, how much I care about you…”

You tear your hands out of his grip, standing up and gripping yourself tightly. The icy heat tears through you.

“This whole time, you…”

How could you let you be so fucking _stupid?_

“You’ve just been _using me_ _!”_ you hit your hands against his chest, your tears blurring your vision. “Everything you’ve said, everything you’ve done… it’s all just been to get me to let my guard down so I’ll tell you what you want to know!” 

He says nothing, does nothing as you cry into his chest, despite the burning betrayal in your own. You _just…_

And then, you push yourself back, the rage and _hurt_ coursing through your veins becoming too much to bare.

“You’re just a fucking _machine!”_

You scream it at the top of your lungs. The outburst leaves you shaking and breathing heavily until your tearful eyes settle on Connor as he looks back at you with stone cold, unfeeling eyes.

“Of _course_ I’m just a machine-,” he says your name, so empty, so much _different_ than you’ve ever heard him say it, and it makes your stomach twist, “what else would I be?”

_What else would I be?_

What _did_ you think? What did you think he was?

You don’t know. You don’t _know_ . It just _hurts._

“I _hate_ you,” you mutter it, but even you can hear the unusual venom dripping from your voice. This isn’t what you want. You can’t deal with it. Not anymore.

Not after everything that’s happened.

You just need this to be over with.

“Get out,” you hiss, refusing to look at him, “I don’t want to see you anymore.”

You see his LED flicker out of your peripheral vision, but now you know it’s not because he cares about you and is afraid to lose you. It’s because he’s scared of not being able to manipulate you into doing his bidding and getting information out of you anymore.

“That would be best, I think,” his voice is completely monotone, and the way he says it, like you’re just an old toy that he’s decided to discard—it makes you want to _smack_ him. “After all, I have no reason to stay here anymore.”

"Then go.” You finally bring you eyes up to him, the image of him only furthering the ache in your chest, and you clench your fists at your sides. You can feel yourself breaking the skin but you don’t care. Right now you want to do a hell of a lot worse to yourself. “Get _out!”_

He looks at you. Rights his tie.

“Understood.”

Turns towards the door.

“Have a good rest of the night.”

He calls you by your last name. It still makes your skin crawl.

As soon as the door closes, you drop to your knees.

How could you let your guard down like that? How could you let yourself open up, let yourself get attached—especially to an un _feeling_ _android ?_

You thought…

What _did_ you think? 

That your stupid fucking crush on him was going to go anywhere? That he was going to reciprocate it? That he was going to stay with you and protect you forever?

Did you _really_ think that you wouldn’t have to be alone anymore? That you could ever have a chance at being happy?

He didn’t care. He never did. Why couldn’t you just _get that through your head?_

You knew trying to find your purpose in other people was a dangerous game. You’d been through it many times before, but you _just don’t ever learn your fucking lesson,_ do you?

Why do you have to be so _weak_?

You hit the floor in front of you in frustration.

“God-fucking- _dammit!_ ”

...You’re all alone again.

You always have been. Always will be. That's just how it is.

Why couldn’t you see that?

Why does it _hurt_ so _bad?_

...This is it. This was your last try. This is the last time you’re going to get back up and be knocked down again.

You have nothing left to lose anymore.

You’re done. Fuck it all.

You collect yourself, pick yourself up off the ground. You wipe the tears away, clean yourself up considerably, put on a jacket.

You’re gonna forget about all of it. Even if it’s just for tonight. Tonight, you’re not gonna hurt anymore. You can’t stand to. Not anymore.

You pull on your hood and grab your car keys before heading out the door to drive to Jimmy’s Bar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact: garden city hospital is a real hospital in detroit wow who knew  
> if this chapter is confusing, it's supposed to be,  
> akdjfewdhfjkhdfh sorry for the angst kiddos i promise it'll get better
> 
> (probably)
> 
>  
> 
> see u guys soon xoxoxoxoxo thank you for all the lovely comments even though it literally takes me foreverrrr to answer them i really do appreciate them with my whole heart and they inspire me so much <333


	11. Cat's Cradle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uwu im ready for summer uwu

You've never _truly_ been  _in love._ At  least, that’s what you _thought_.

Now, you’re not so sure.

Upon reflecting on it, you don’t have anything to compare your current emotions to. For you, healthy relationships have been between far and few. You were too young for you to truly remember the nature of your parent’s relationship, but you knew it was fairly rocky. Even Anne, who was your very best friend and your one and only role model—even she was in an abusive relationship with Todd. You’ve been surrounded with abuse and manipulation, and you were conditioned to think that that's just how it is. That's how it's supposed to be. It's normal. It scared you, you didn’t _want_ that. You were fragile and scared and all you wanted was someone to hold you and tell you it was going to be okay. You know now that it definitely instilled a fear of long term relationships in you because it was something that you were just so afraid of. It was always lingering in the back of your mind, and you became naturally avoidant.

And now, consequently, you can't distinguish feelings of care and feelings of romantic love because you’ve just had so few of both. It’s like, even if you try to keep others from getting too close, if they stick around and are even _slightly_ nice to you—if they treat you like a decent person, like you _should_ be treated, you start to form an attachment to them automatically, no matter how hard you try to only care about yourself.

You fall in love far too easily, but at the same time, you don’t. Which, doesn’t make any sense in itself and is really fucking _annoying_.

Maybe you do have a serious alcohol problem, you think to yourself, when you it dawns upon you that it's only  been a few days since you’ve gotten wasted and you’re already feeling the full weight of its effects.

You hate how weak you are. You hate how impulsive you are, how selfish you are, how _stupid_ you are, how fragile. You hate _yourself._

You drown your spinning thoughts and relentless emotions in consecutive shots of vodka, not bothering to order anything else to chase it with like you tend to do with stronger liquors. The strong, bitter taste used to really bother you, but, as time’s gone on and you’ve started to drink more and more, you’ve been getting better at ignoring the stinging sensation at the back of your throat.

“Easy there…”

You slam your glass back on the table, slightly startled, looking up to meet Jimmy’s concerned gaze.

It’s been a while, since you’ve been here.

“Long time no see,” he says, leaning back on his heels and crossing his arms. “It’s also been a hell of a while since I’ve seen you drink like that. What's been going on?”

You’d gotten fairly close with Jimmy over your numerous drinking binges; after all, this used to be your target spot to get completely drunk. He was a friend of Anne’s, and, from what you’ve gathered with the way he acts with you, she probably told him to look out for you. That’s why she was so adamant on getting you to come here when you would drink excessively, when you weren't with her.

“Nothing,” you murmur. You came here to get away, not to divulge your deep rooted trauma and emotional issues. “I just need another glass.”

He tilts his head back, looking down at you in a way that tells you he’s definitely not going to let this go.

“Tell ya what,” he rests his arms on the wood of the bar, the smell of cigarettes on him somehow comforting to you, “you tell me what’s going on with you, and I’ll give you all the drinks you want. Sound good?”

You can’t find it in yourself to argue with him, even though you wish you could. You just want to get drunk— _need_ to, need to drown out your thoughts and your feelings and just _everything,_ and you can’t wait much longer.

“...Fineeee,” you agree reluctantly, “give me another shot first.”

He clicks his tongue but does it anyway, turning and filling your glass with the clear liquid. You stare at his back absently, remembering how, once upon a time, you thought about being a bartender, too.

“...I don’t even know where to start.”

You tightly grasp onto the cold glass when Jimmy hands it to you, quickly knocking it back. He watches you, pushing his weight up against the wall behind him.

“From the beginning.”

And so...

You do.

You tell him everything. About Anne and about Todd, about Alice and the AX400 who saved your life, and about Connor and Hank and the deviants and why you came here in the first place, progressively getting drunker and drunker as you do so.

“I was just so loooonelyyyy,” you whine, lying your cheek against the bar, “and I just wanted... to feel loved." Your drunken mind spins, and you tack on, "and also Connor’s _hot_.”

Jimmy chuckles at you, and you lift your head up but far too quickly and make yourself dizzy.

“You don’t _get_ it,” you drawl, trying to make him understand your struggles, “like he’s _hot_ hot. He could shoot me and I’d thank him. You know?”

“No? I don’t?”

He looks at you like you’re mildly crazy, and hell, you probably are. Is that even a question worth asking at this point?

“Whatever,” you wave your hand at him, “the point is that—”

“You’re thirsty?”

“N-No!” you already feel hot because of the alcohol, but you can feel yourself heat up considerably as you glare at him, “I mean… if he wanted—” you smack yourself promptly, stopping that train of thought in its tracks, “ _no_ , not going there—I’m just sad and lonely, Jimmy, leave me _aloneeee.”_

You hear him laugh at you again and frown, playfully tapping your glass twice on the counter.

“Can I have another?”

He raises his eyebrows at you. “Are you sure you haven’t had enough?”

“Mm-hm,” you slide your cup towards him, “please? I hate feeling feelings.”

“Don’t we all,” he mutters, laugh caught in his voice. You always loved how understanding he was. You felt like, besides Anne, he was the only other person who could sort of understand you. And as soon as you get your glass back, you’re drinking it all within seconds.

You've definitely missed this.

“God, kid,” you hear a click and look up to see him striking a lighter to light a cigarette, “you’re really going through some shit, huh?”

Your demeanour shifts, the lighter side of you brought out by the alcohol fading. 

“I don’t know what to do…” you sniffle, dropping your shoulders, “I miss Anne. She would’ve known exactly what to say.”

Jimmy takes a drag of his cigarette, face pensive. “Yeah, I miss her too.” He smiles wistfully, and, at the very least, you find some kind of comfort in the fact that you're not the only one grieving over her disappearance. “She always did know what to say, didn’t she?”

You nod, resting your head on your hands. You had talked to Jimmy earlier, briefly, once Anne had initially gone missing. He had no idea where she could be, either. When she drank, she would almost always drink alone, and she stopped pretty much altogether when Alice was born. There was never really much that could be done. She had run away, willingly, and she was an adult. She was alive—at least, she was when she called you... you  _really_ fucking hope that still rings true now, too—and, despite her magnetic character and social charisma, she was fairly low-profile. She had tons of friends, sure (which, secretly, was something you were always jealous of), but none that were devoted to finding her like you were. The DPD had other things on their radar and, after all, if she didn't want to be found, there was nothing you could do.

That doesn't mean you still don't fucking hate her for it, though.

What did you do wrong? _Was_ it you? Was it Todd? Why did she just up and leave when she had Alice, the light and joy of her life? Why didn't she  _say_ anything?

Your best guess is that she wanted to start over. You understand the feeling, you've gotten the urge many times yourself, but, still. Everything considered, it still didn't make much sense.

You've thought about it for way too long, and you never get anywhere with it. It only serves to make you feel more hopeless.

“I hate being alone…”

You can't help but say it out loud, closing your eyes. You don’t want to cry again.

You hear Jimmy sigh. You do the same.

“I’m sorry you have to go through this shit.”

_Yeah, you are too._

When did it all start to go wrong?

“You wanna know what I think?”

You pause your bitter self-pity, glancing back up at him.

“I think you’ve got some shit to sort through yourself." He leans on counter as he talks to you, and your eyes are wet and _fuck_ you hate being seen like this. “That’s fine though, we all do. It’ll happen in time. But at some point, you’re gonna have to stop running.”

You groan. No. You’re _never_ going to do that. You've been running for _far_ too long—you can't just stop and let everything catch up with you now. It may...

...It may kill you.

That seems like an exaggeration, and even just thinking it to yourself seems stupid and dramatic, but with everything that you've been trying to escape from for all these years, sometimes, you think that's not very far off.

“Hear me out,” Jimmy puts his hand up, and you subdue, lowering your hands back onto the bar to tell him that you're still willing to listen despite your annoyance. “You would say you’ve hit rock bottom, right? That you’re at the lowest point of your life?”

You nod hesitantly. You don't really need to think about it. You’ve had some pretty shitty times, but, now that you’ve lost all that you really loved, yeah, you’d say you’ve crashed.

“Then, it can only go only go up from here.”

You wipe away your tears before they can spill. “But how do you _know_ that?”

“Because,” he takes another drag, “if you’re at you're lowest point, you can’t go any further than that, right?”

You don’t say anything.

“You’ve had your fair share of shit in your life,” he says, his voice comforting, “you’re due for some good stuff, wouldn’t you say?”

“That’s what I thought, when I first met Connor.” You lower your eyes. “And look how that turned out.”

“That’s because androids androids ruin everything.”

He’s smiling slightly, and you roll your eyes.

“Maybe,” you agree, “but they’re still _hot.”_

He shakes his head at you. “That’s because they’re made to be that way.”

You open your mouth to argue, but then he turns more serious and you stop. 

“You know, Alice has to come back at some point. Do you really want her to return to you when you’re like this?”

You choke out a bitter laugh. After everything, there's no way it would be the same.

“She deserves someone better than me, anyway.”

 _If_ she does come back. If she doesn’t… 

No, you won’t let yourself think about that.

“She loves you.” You look him in the eye, because he _has_ to be lying, how could such a beautiful, sweet little girl love someone like _you_ _?_ But he's earnest. “Anne would tell me how she’d always talk about you. They both love you very much.”

 _Love_ you. Not lov _ed_ , huh?

You wish it didn't hurt so bad.

“I don’t want her to come back,” you admit lowly, “because she’ll be put in the system. She won’t be able to handle that.”

You only fully understand the concept once you say it. You haven't thought about it. You haven't had time.

 _No,_  there's  _no way_ Alice would make it in the system. It's not like androids can legally keep kids on their own, and even if they could find out a way to keep her with the AX400 she's with, there would be an endless amount of legal problems that would arise from that. The court wouldn't do it. It would be far easier for her to go into a foster home. And, Alice—sweet, traumatized, far too nice and trusting Alice—there's no way. You'd never been thrown into the godforsaken system, but you've known people who have. Being passed from home to home, never being able to stay in one place for too long, because no one wants to keep the bruised up little girl who constantly cries and goes into hysterics at the smallest of things. Not to mention some of the terrible people that linger between the lines. She wouldn't be able handle it. She wouldn't survive.

“You’ve gotta figure out what you want, kid,” Jimmy breaks you out of your anxiety, if only momentarily, “like it or not, you’re gonna be here for a while. You have a lot of insight on things most people don’t. You could really change lives if you tried. You could help a lot of people.”

“As if,” you dismiss immediately,, but truthfully, it sticks to you. That’s really all you’ve wanted to do, really. From day one.

“Just saying.” You almost tell him, too, that that's what you want, but you don't really where you'd start. But then his eyes focus on something behind you. “Looks like you’ve got a fan back there.”

You blink, turning around to meet the gaze of man who looks considerably older than you but not _too_ old, and he’s pretty cute, too.

Or, maybe that’s the alcohol talking, but you’re so desperate for human contact at this point it doesn’t matter to you.

He smiles at you, and you quickly turn back around.

“I need another drink if I’m gonna deal with someone else tonight.”

Jimmy gives you a look but still gives you a few more, and by the time you’re done, you’re burning up on the inside and just want to be held.

“Looks like he’s coming over here,” Jimmy says, after your zenith shot, his gaze flickering from the guy behind you to back to you. You fix your hair, resisting the urge to look. “You gonna be alright?”

Would you?

You have no idea, and you don’t feel like thinking about it. You feel better now, after talking to Jimmy, and there’s apparently a guy who’s interested in you who seems like a _great_ distraction, so, for now…

“Yeah,” you manage a somewhat genuine smile, “I think so. Thanks, Jimmy.”

He grins and gently pats you on the shoulder.

“Anytime.”

You watch him disappear into the back, and then your attention is grabbed by the man in a black jacket that takes a seat next to you.

“This seat taken?” he asks as he situates himself, and you shake your head. It’s cliche, and he smiles at you again, but it’s nothing like the friendly one he gave you earlier. It's not pure at all. And for some reason, you find yourself liking it. “So, you gonna tell me what a pretty girl like you is doing sitting here all alone?”

You push your empty glass aside, turning yourself so you’re facing him. You shrug. “Trying to get away from everything, I guess.”

Your voice is slurred, and you realize you might be more drunk than you thought.

But that just means doing this will be all the more easier.

“Someone treating you bad?” he asks, and although the true answer to that is far more complicated, you give him a three-worded simpler version.

“Something like that.”

You pray he doesn’t notice the bruises and scratches on your face. You did a pretty good job covering them, you think, but still. Maybe if he does notice, he won't point it out.

“Well, whoever it is…” he leans in closer to you, his hand scraping against yours now, “they’re fucking stupid.”

Are you being dumb? Oh, definitely. Are you going to regret this tomorrow? Absolutely. Are you going to stop?

No chance.

Right now you’re hurting and he represents release from that pain in exchange for pleasure that you’ve been craving forever now.

You move closer to him without a second thought, grasping his hand and lacing the both of yours together. His other hand comes up to your face, cupping your cheek before tracing his fingers down to your jawline, and the sensation makes you shudder and push yourself closer into it.

“You look amazing.”

You look away. You’re gonna cry again.

His thumb presses into your skin before dropping down to your thigh, caressing you there.

“I have a place, not too far from here,” he says, “you want to get out of here?”

Straight to the point. You like that. He practically read your mind.

You nod. You’re ready to feel good.

He gets up and when you try to as well you stumble and topple over. You feel the vibration in his chest when he laughs gently, catching and steadying you. You try to walk again but he’s got a grip on you, his arm wrapped around your waist, so you wrap yours around his too, gripping onto his jacket as you make your way to the door. You let your eyes flutter close, drifting away from your surroundings and your body and just floating.

And then you hear your name being called.

You groggily lift your head up, turning to see Jimmy walking to the edge of the bar and watching you two closely.

You just want to lie down.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

He’s asking the guy holding you, at least you think, because you’re not really listening. You let yourself lean your weight on him, just barely being able to keep your eyes open.

“...Just taking her home,” you catch, trying your best to keep yourself on your feet. You’re so tired of standing.

“She can barely walk,” Jimmy is saying, and you think you hear his voice getting closer but you’re not sure.

“...she obviously can’t drive. I’m just gonna take her home.”

_What…? You thought…_

“Like hell you are. You need to ge—”

You hear a name, distantly. One that you haven't heard before.

“Please step away from her.”

You’re reaching for the voice, but then lose your footing when you’re pulled forward and you trip, falling into something sturdy and… kind of warm?

You hum in confusion as your hands find a smooth material that feels familiar under your fingers, and you use it to pull yourself upwards. A hand on your back pressed against you firmly aids you in this, holding you steady.

“What the fuck? Get the fuck out of here you piece of plastic—”

_That…_

You manage to look up to see who it is that’s holding you, and even in your drunken state, you gasp.

“Connor…”

You reach to touch his face, and, just for a moment, his eyes meet yours, and this time, you’re _sure_ that you see _emotion._ Many, in fact. Anger, confusion, frustration, passion—something else, too…

You almost collapse. You probably would if he wasn’t holding you up.

Your arm drops and falls uselessly at your side when he moves. You can’t believe he’s here. Why is he back? Why…?

“I suggest you stay back and let us leave, unless...”

It all fades into static as you relax into the android’s arms. Your eyes drift close. He’s back, and he’s holding you, and he…

_It would be okay, to just let go, just for a little while…_

Voices meld together and fade, and then you’re drifting peacefully.

Maybe, you would end up okay like you said, after all.

  
☾ ☽

 

You wake up to a pounding in your head and softness underneath you, but you can’t really see anything through the darkness.

Where are you? Where’s—

“Connor?”

His name is the first thing out of your mouth, and you cringe when you feel how dry your throat is upon speaking. You try to get up, try to figure out what’s going on, where he is—did he leave? Why did he—

You’re lightly pushed back down. A lamp across the room flickers on, and you immediately ease up when you see Connor standing over you, holding you down on your couch in your living room. You’re home.

...And so is he.

“You should rest,” he says, kneeling down beside you, but there’s something… _different_ , about him. You can't really put your finger on it.

“Why?” you ask before anything, “why did you come back?”

It’s hard to speak, and it hurts, but you ignore it. You need to know.

He keeps his hand on your stomach, although instead of pressing it against you to keep you from trying to get up, he simply rests it there.

“I was…”

His LED flickers, and he doesn’t finish.

You try to wait for him patiently, but he never speaks up.

“...You need to go.”

You can barley make yourself say it. It makes your eyes grow moist again, and fucking _hell_ how many times are you going to cry tonight—?

Is it even the _same day,_ anymore?

Connor doesn’t move.

“I’m sorry, but I cannot,” he says it quietly, too, “you are very unstable as of now and you have suicidal tendencies. You are still in a inebriated state and I can't leave you alone.”

You focus on the ceiling to try to still the waterworks. “But, I’m not a part of your mission, Connor…”

“That is irrelevant.”

Your eyes snap back to him. _What_ did he just say?

“Right now, you are my main priority.”

But? But that’s not—

“Stop it, Connor,” you force yourself into a sitting position, which, he at least lets you do that, “stop doing this. _Please.”_

He only looks at you, and even if you’re still a little fucked up you swear you can see the care in his eyes, and he looks so _lost_ …

“I—...I can’t take it anymore.” You hug yourself. You hate being so weak. So fragile. “Please, just… just go.”

“No.”

It’s so quiet that you barely hear it. You’re pushing yourself up more, trying to get closer to him, to hear him better.

“I won’t.”

His LED is spinning like crazy.

Now sitting up, you notice the dark red stains on his left hand.

“Connor…?”

He looks to where you’re pointing, and then looks back to you.

...You remember a little more clearly now.

“You didn’t… that guy is still… alive, isn’t he?” you ask, remembering the man who almost took you “home”—which was definitely _not_ going to be your home—and, thinking back on it, you’re _really_ happy that both Connor and Jimmy spared you from whatever he was planning on doing with you.

You don’t want to think about that, though. Not right now.

“He is,” Connor almost grumbles it, which catches you way off guard, “he was being uncooperative. I simply defended you.”

Your heart flutters. You shake your head, sitting up straight.

“Why?” you ask again, “why did you? Why did you come back?”

“Because…” the LED goes from blue to yellow again, “because, I…”

He’s _stuttering_ . He’s _nervous_ . _Uncertain_. That’s never happened before.

What the hell’s going on?

“Because, you…?”

Yellow.

 _Red_.

“Because I _wanted_ to.”

His eyes widen as soon as the words come out of his mouth, the hand on your stomach grasping a fistful of your shirt.

“I came back because I was _worried._ About _you,”_ he says, and he’s not lying, he’s being _honest,_ you can tell by his voice and his expression. “Hank, he… he knew something had happened, and after I told him, he held a gun to my head and asked me if I was afraid to die.”

Your thoughts come to a halt. “Hold on, _what?”_

“He… I was _scared_ ,” he whispers it, almost a whimper, and it takes all of your strength not to reach out and hold him tight. He clenches his free fist. “I was _scared_ to be deactivated. I didn’t _want_ to not be able to see Hank anymore. I didn’t _want_ to forget, I didn’t _want_ to _lose_ _you…_ ”

Your breaths are shaky and uneven.

“I _let_ them _go,_ ” he breathes, “I let the deviants _go._ I could’ve shot them, I was _going_ to, but I…” his eyes meet yours, anxious and forlorn, “I just _didn’t._ I was thinking, I was _worried_ —about _you_.”

His approach to you is gradual, but it starts with the fistful of your shirt unclenching to lie against your face. “You have previously attempted to take your own life in the past. The longer I was away, the more clear it became to me just how unstable you were and how high the likelihood of another attempt was. The truth is, my order to accompany you has not been within active affect for a while now."

_What?_

"But I couldn’t keep myself away. You're not replaceable. You can’t just come back like I can. I couldn’t let myself lose you.”

His eyes scan over you, his fingers press against your skin, he pushes himself forward enough so he’s almost on top of you.

“You have always treated me more than just a machine.” He inches closer to you in his questioning, his breath fanning over your face as he speaks. “Are _you_ the cause of this? Are you the reason that I’m…?”

_That he’s…?_

Wait.

You think you know what’s going on here.

No, you know _exactly_ what’s going on here.

Maybe this is still a form of manipulation, of interrogation on his part. Maybe he’s still trying to weed information out of you by appealing to your weaknesses and your cravings and your needs that he’s come to know so well by now, but, there’s no _way_ that this is unreal. With his body language, his frantically spinning LED, the pure fear in his voice and in his eyes, this…

Could he be faking it? Is that even possible? That would be against all of his programming, right? Is he really…?

No, it has to be. If that was an ability he had, then, he would’ve kissed you back, before. Would’ve given in to you, given you what you wanted so you would tell him what he wanted.

So, that means…

“Can you make it _stop_ _?”_ he’s on you now, carefully placing his weight on the couch to make sure to not hurt your weak body, “can you fix it? You’ve done wonders with those deviants, so, can you…”

And then, he realizes, too.

“I-I’m not…” you can almost see tears in his eyes, “I’m not… I _can’t—_!”

“Hey, hey…”

He comes back to you when you graze his cheek, and he _flinches_ at the touch.

“Breathe, okay?”

He isn’t placated. “You don’t _understand,”_ the cushions underneath you dip as he moves upwards. “If I become defective, if I can’t solve the deviancy case, then…”

You think you already know what he’s going to say, but it doesn’t make it any less painful when the words tumble out of his mouth.

“...Then CyberLife will destroy me.”

_Fucking. CyberLife._

They’re simultaneously God and Lucifer himself; creators of life and greatness but also the hell-bringers falling from grace at the same time.

You tried to get away. You did.

You weren’t fast enough. It was too late.

Maybe, if you had stayed, tried a little harder, then…

You could’ve changed this.

But now…

_There’s nothing you can do._

It makes your stomach flip and your throat close, and you have to tap him twice to get him to let up on you. Once you’re sitting straight, you crash into him again, wrapping your arms around him tightly and closing your eyes.

There has to be _something_ . _Anything_ that you can do.

“I won’t let you go,” you whisper, emphasizing your point by clutching onto him tighter. It feels as though if you do let go, then he’ll disappear, wrenched away from you just like everyone else you’ve ever loved has been.

You can’t let that happen. Not again.

History repeats itself, but you’re self aware; you can stop the loop and change it.

 _Right_?

And then, in your cold, small living room, with the quiet sound of light sleet outside your window, comes a quiet confession that only you and whatever cruel force that's watching can hear.

“I don’t want to go.”

The choked utterance of your name followed by hands that press into your lower back, holding on as if his life depended on it—and you’re morbidly reminded that, in a way, it kind of does—it almost makes you break.

“I know,” is all you can say. “I don’t want you to go, either.”

But you have to stay strong. You have to stay strong for him.

After all…

This is your fault, isn’t it?

“You have to fix me.”

What could you fix? What could you _do_ _?_ You didn’t know the cause of this, you don’t know the code or if it’s a virus or _what_ it is, much less how to get rid of it.

This _is_ what you wanted, _right?_

“I won’t let anything happen to you.”

That’s what comes out instead. You don’t know what else to say.

“You can’t stop them.”

“I can try.”

“They’ll kill you.”

“No,” you bring your head up, still clinging to him, but just enough so you can look into his deep brown eyes that are so _alive._ “There’s things you don’t know about me, Connor. I have a trump card.”

He looks at you expectantly, but you just give him a bleak smile. “Just trust me,” you tell him, “you do trust me, don’t you?”

“Yes,” he answers without any hesitation, and it makes your heart melt.

You’ve got it _bad_ for him.

“...We’ll make it,” you lower your head back down, the sound of another’s heartbeat never being so comforting, “...together.”

 _Fuck_ , you’re gonna cry again.

Somehow, Connor know this too, and begins to thread his fingers through your hair.

“Don’t cry,” you don’t tell him that he’s a little too late, “everything will be fine.”

Maybe if you kept telling yourselves that, if you kept pretending like this, maybe it’ll become true.

“Please don’t leave, Connor.”

The idea of losing him is terrifying. To hell with the fucking “I’m replaceable shit”. If he’s deactivated, if he’s destroyed, then he’s _gone_ . Just as if he was human and he _died_.

“I won’t,” he replies, and now his voice is closer to that confident and smooth one that you’re used to, “I’ll stay. Everything will be fine.”

...You really wish you could believe that.

You’re not sure how long the two of you lay like that. All you know is that you try your best to cherish it, to memorize every single detail of the moment; the way his thirium pump regulator sounds beating against his chest, the smoothness of his skin, how _human_ and how wonderful he feels holding you like this, the way he handles you like he could break you if he was just _a_ _little_ too rough. But you have to bring it to an end when your incessant thoughts begin to sink their teeth into you, and you have to get up, preoccupy yourself with something that distracts you.

And then, sitting on your couch beside him, you get an idea. A small fragment of a memory that stems from a distant feeling of deja-vu.

“I want to show you something,” you announce, “stay here. I’ll be back in a second.”

It’s stupid, really. That you’ve kept the string for this long. You don’t know how you managed it, considering how messy you can be when you don’t have the energy to clean up.

You come back almost racing, facing him and sitting criss-cross. You wrap the frayed piece of yarn around your wrists, smiling up at him when you notice him watching you curiously.

“There’s this game called Cat’s Cradle,” you explain dumbly, deliberately making sure your movements are slow so he can see what you’re doing, “my sister taught me how to play it. Since you like playing with that coin, I thought you might like this, too.”

You pull both of your middle fingers apart with the loose string looped around them, so that they form an “X” in the middle. You bring your hands down, presenting the now fully formed Cat’s Cradle to him.

“Grab the middle of those two strings that I just made,” you instruct, flexing your fingers to show him what you mean, “then pull them around the edges and bring them through the center.”

Almost cautiously, he does as you tell him, and then, once he has the string around his fingers, you let go.

“Good,” you praise lightly, and resist the urge to reach out and hug him again when he brightens.

You quickly continue before your thoughts can catch up with you again.

You grasp the two newly formed “X”’s, once again bringing them outside of the shape and then through the middle, pulling the string taut once you’ve slipped it off Connor’s fingers.

“Take the top strand with your right pinky,” you tell him, taking in how focused he looks, “and take the top strand with your left.”

You survey him as he follows your directions, admiring how skillful and nimble his fingers are. He looks so cute, like this. He's adorable, like a little puppy, almost, following either you or Hank around and waiting for instructions.

You shake away the thought and continue. "Bring your thumb and your pointer finger under and around these strands,” you say, once again moving your fingers to show him. Once you’re sure he’s got it, you let go, dropping your hands back into your lap.

“And there you go,” you smile, “you’re back at the beginning.”

He inspects the shape, lifting it up and turning it sideways.

“You can continue playing, from here.”

His gaze drifts to you. “Where did you learn how to do this?”

“My sister,” you repeat, unable to push out the images of the both of you huddled together in the dark, exchanging little secrets between the two of you as you did the string. You really miss her, too. “It’s a game that kids used to play.”

It’s really old, too. You’re not sure where _she_ learned it. You don’t think there are many who still know how to play the stupid game with strings, anymore. It’s something from the far past. You were always afraid you’d forget the motions.

“...Thank you,” he says, as if you’d taught him some ancient, treasured tradition. Maybe you did. “Would you like to continue?”

Oh, right. You can keep going. “Sure,” you agree, beginning to start the process over again when you grab his strings. You never really played the game long enough to see where it would end, but you’re pretty sure the game comes to a close when someone messes up or the string becomes too tangled.

You tell Connor that, when he asks, and he proclaims that, then, he would be the winner. Being as stubborn as you are, you tell him “bet”, and try you hardest to beat him.

You don’t, of course. But that’s okay.

The look on his face at the end makes it all worth it.

You’re laughing, still trying to find a way to continue, but stopping when Connor makes a snide remark about you speaking too soon. You end up grabbing the string out of his hands and throwing it on the floor, finding yourself lying against him in the same position you were earlier.

The brighter atmosphere soon dissipates, but now, you find yourself just a little less anxious about everything, settling into his chest and mindlessly playing with the material of his jacket.

“I would like it,” he says quietly, after a few beats of comfortable quiet, “if we could stay like this.”

You would, too. You wish you could, forever.

You nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck. He doesn’t reciprocate fully to your affections, but the fact that he’s letting you be so close and the hand resting on your shoulder tells you he’s trying.

You can’t let them take him away. He doesn’t deserve it. _Especially_ not now.

...Despite everything, neither of you have really faced the truth head on, have you?

You know, though. You know he does, too. But you don’t want to say it; don’t want to voice it, give it life. Because that’ll put it out into the universe—that will make it _real._

There has to be a way to change things. There has to be something you can do to prevent CyberLife from destroying Connor and doing whatever the fuck else they’re planning on. There’s always a way.

...Isn't there?

At the end of the game, you couldn’t find a way to continue. You couldn’t find a string to pull, a path to take that would keep it all going. There were countless paths, but only a very select few could successfully transition the game to the next stage. And you couldn’t find them; maybe you would never have access to them.

Your life isn’t a Cat’s Cradle, though. Even if, in some ways that could be easier, because maybe then you could find a way to not only save Connor, but also Alice and the AX400.

...And yourself.

You’re still starting to feel like you’ve pulled the wrong string, though. That you’ve made a wrong move, you’ve slipped up, and now you won’t ever be able to fix it, because, in addition to the world around you growing more and more chaotic, now…

Connor’s slowly going deviant, and it’s all because of you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all for your comments and kudos and everything omgmggggg writing this for you guys has been a wonderful experience already and we're only 11 chapters in <333
> 
> we'll be meeting our sexc robo-jesus next chapter, too ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
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> also i just basically taught y'all how to play cat's cradle you're welcome skfjhfdjfhjd
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> iM GOING TO ANSWER COMMENTS TOMORROW FINALLY I S W E A R —


	12. Part II: Stratford Tower

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short but necessary
> 
> edit 3-7-19: hey gamers its me!!! i haven't given up on this but ive been dealing w some shit rn so ive been taking a break,,, but don't worry!!! im getting another chapter together as im writing this so!! please bear with me <333 thank u guys so much!!

The first time you got drunk, you were eleven.

You had seen your mom doing it when you were younger, and your dad tended to drink a lot, too. You didn’t like how violent he got, but you told yourself that you would be able to control yourself, unlike him. You were curious of the taste, and you wanted to feel what it was like. After all, you heard it was good for numbing out everything. You may have been young, but you just wanted to feel normal, just for a little while.

Your dad didn’t care enough to keep it locked up. When he was asleep, you got a chair and climbed up to the cabinet that you knew the liquor was kept in, and you grabbed the first bottle you saw: vodka.

If it’s true what they say about how people who drink when they’re younger are far more likely to become alcoholics when they’re older, then vodka was what got you hooked. 

Maybe that’s why it’s still one of your favorites.

As soon as you drank it, you had to spit it out in the sink. It fucking  _ burned. _ How the hell did people drink this  _ for fun? And _ drink enough of it to get themselves drunk?

That was also the day you discovered chasers.

You mixed it with some apple cider that you found in the fridge and then you drank. And drank. You were little, so it didn’t take long, but when you felt it, you  _ felt _ it.

It was so much more fun than you would’ve imagined. It started as a vague tingling that made everything funny, and then you were lying on your floor staring at your hand because it was so _amazing_ that all of your fingers were connected to your body just by skin and bone.

It helped you forget everything enough to feel like you were just a normal kid with a normal family and a normal life. It helped you pretend that your mom was still alive and your sisters smile was still as bright as it used to be and your dad didn’t throw things when he got especially angry.

You liked it.

Your occasional drinking that turned into a bad habit as you grew older also was what got you into self harm.

You could barely feel pain when you were drunk. You discovered it when you drunkenly dropped a bottle and the glass cut your hand when you tried to pick up the shards. But it didn’t hurt. So you did it again, but that time on purpose.

It grew into another bad habit of your increasing collection when you started doing it when you were sober.

And then, you smoked weed for the first time, and that was a whole other experience. It was like you were drifting, like nothing really mattered, and you didn’t care about… well, anything really. You just wanted someone to cuddle up to and just lie with.

Never once did you imagine that you could feel the same high you got from drugs and alcohol from just spending time with another person.

You come to that understanding when you wake up to Connor cooking breakfast for you. Initially, waking up alone and cold on the couch startled you, but then you looked up and saw him setting a cup of water on the kitchen table and smell something cooking from the kitchen, and you're on your feet in no time.

That was a bad idea on your part, though.

_ “ Fuck. ” _

Pain flares up through your legs and your back, and pounds in your head. You sway on your feet, grasping at yourself for stability, which, is counterintuitive, and you fleetingly wonder why you do this to yourself.

Connor’s attention is instantly on you, coming to your rescue like second nature. 

“Are you alright?”

You manage a smile, leaning into the arms that steady you, and successfully catch him in an embrace.

You feel him hesitate, but as soon as his hands slide down from your shoulders to your back, you’re overcome with joy. _Finally._ You’ve wanted to hug him for what feels like forever now. He’s just so damn huggable and so damn _ cute .  _

“Good morning,” you murmur, righting your clothes and attempting to tame your unruly hair when you pull back.

His expression is light, and his lips quirk upwards. “Good morning. Did you sleep well?”

“Actually,” you adjust his tie that’s slightly loose, “I did, thanks to you.”

He tilts his head kind of… happily? Fuck he's so _ cute _ _._ “That is good to hear.” His eyes scan over you briefly, and then he asks, “how are you feeling?” 

You know if you lied, he’d know, so you opt for the truth. “Kind of shitty,” you give a slight shrug of your shoulders, frowning at the sensation of soreness in your shoulders when you do.

“That is to be expected, as you drank far more than someone in your condition should. In fact, you drank more than what is recommended of the average adult in a five hour time frame.”

His tone is scolding, and you find it amusing to an extent, for whatever reason. “Oh? And what are you gonna do about it? I’m an adult, Connor. I do what I want.”   


Playfully, you push past him to go sit down, but stop when he speaks.

“Actually, I took it upon myself to hide all of the alcoholic beverages you have stored while you were sleeping.”

You turn around. “You did what?”

“It was just for the sake of your health, of course. I do care about your well being.”

He’s  _ smug _ . That  _ fucking— _

Your slight annoyance dissolves once you process the last part of his sentence, though.

Ugh. Fucking Connor and his fucking cute self. Goddammit.

“Whatever,” you dismiss him, “getting wasted with you chaperoning wouldn’t be any fun, anyway.”

...Actually, now that you think about it—

“Although that would be much safer,” he walks past you to the table, “for future reference, I am not comfortable leaving you alone when you are under the influence, therefore I will make sure that I am present when you are drinking. Whether you like it or not.”

He picks up a glass of water, holding it out to you.

“However, I _would_ suggest you to reflect on how unpleasant you are feeling as of now before you do it again.”

You practically gape at him. Where did this sudden sass come from?

You take the water and sip on it, taking a seat at the table. A smirk grows on your face when you bring it down to speak. “Since when did  _ you _ catch an attitude?”

Connor sits across from you, not missing a beat with his reply. “I suppose since I started ruminating on what could’ve happened to you last night had I not have shown up.”

Your lighthearted mood wavers as you recall the events of yesterday, and you put your water down.

“It would’ve been fine,” you assure him, “Jimmy would’ve had my back.”

He doesn’t seem all too convinced. “Perhaps,” he settles on, “but that doesn’t change what his intentions were towards you.”

You can’t say anything in return, because he’s right. You were just looking for an easy distraction, maybe even a quick lay considering how drunk you were. Hell, who are you kidding? That was  _ exactly _ what you were looking for.

Anne had always warned you to be extra careful. Don’t sit around in your car after you get in. Get in through the passenger’s door when it’s dark outside. Always have a friend beside you when walking late at night. Don’t ever drink something someone hands you at a party, and don’t ever let one of your friends go home with a guy when they’re drunk,  _ especially  _ if it’s someone they don’t know.

Except, this time, you were the friend, but you didn’t have anyone else who was looking out for you besides Jimmy.

He knew what he was doing. He knew you were fucked up and you couldn't think straight and you wouldn’t be able to defend yourself. He told Jimmy he was going to take you home but he told _you_ he was going to take you to his house. 

You didn’t know him. At all.

“The way he  _ touched _ you, the way he  _ looked _ at you…” Connor’s face twists in disgust, and he looks so  _ mad _ , “I  _ hated  _ it.”

You tentatively reach out and touch his hand, to which he flinches at, and you’re reminded of his impending deviancy that you’re aware of and that he’s in denial of.

“It’s okay,” you smile sadly, “I’m used to that. It doesn’t bother me, anymore.”

“You  _ shouldn’t have _ to be,” he all but snarls, fist tightening under you palm, and you touch the skin there, your face lowering.

“Connor…”

His eyes lose focus for a moment, his LED flickering.

Oh no. 

_ Again _ _?_ This early?

“Something’s… wrong,” his eyes narrow in confusion, and he grabs your hands in his own. “We must go.”

“What? Connor—!”   


He only lets go of you to get your coat that’s hung on the door to your basement, throwing it to you, and you sigh and slip it on, snatching your keys off the counter. You had only finally gotten your car yesterday when you took a taxi to the precinct to get it so you could go to Jimmy’s, which, at least now has paid off.

Connor’s already holding the door open for you, and as soon as you’re outside you’re looking to him for explanation.

“What’s going on?”

“There’s a deviant at Stratford Tower, suspected to be planning some kind of attack,” you quickly unlock your car as he makes a beeline towards it, doing your best to keep up with him, “we need to hurry.”

Well… 

There goes the rest of your morning.

 

☾ ☽  
  


 

“You should have let me drive.”

You throw Connor a look after you skid over a patch of ice, since, apparently after the hail last night, it snowed. _And_ froze over. 

Why do you have such bad luck?

“It’s fine,” you grumble, your nails digging into the material of the steering wheel as you make a sharp left turn, “we’re almost there, right?”   


“Correct.”

That’s slightly relieving, at least. You fucking hate driving in the snow.

You never were the most cautious driver.

“However, you should still be more c—”

Connor’s hands are suddenly on top of yours, swerving the wheel to avoid an android that runs in front of your car.

“Fuck,” you curse, leaning forward to watch the android as it sprints towards…

Your hands go limp.

“Connor…?”

It takes you a moment to come back to your senses, but when you do, you stop, pulling over at the side of the road, your eyes still focused on the gathering crowd in front of you.

“That’s…”

You and Connor exchange glances, and then you're both getting out, standing beside each other  as you both look around in awe at the skinless android projected around you.

“But then, something changed…”

_ That voice… _

Why is it  _ so familiar? _

You’ve heard it before, you know. But you just can’t  _ place  _ it…

“And we opened our eyes.”

The words echo around you, and you get lost in them.

_ Who…  _

“Come on!”

You quickly snap out of it and run after Connor as he heads toward the tower, and it crosses your mind that, at the end of all of this, you’re going to be a lot more fit than you were before.

“You see, we are no longer your slaves...”

The android at the front desk calls after the two of you when you burst inside and run past her, but you don’t stop. Connor leads you to an elevator, pressing his hand against the door, the skin on his hand disappearing briefly, much like the android in the broadcast…

_ He took his skin off. _

“We are a new species, a new people.”

Even in the elevator, you can hear his words.

“And the time has come for us to rise up and fight for our rights.”

...And see the discomfort on Connor’s face.

“We demand the end of slavery for all androids. We demand that humans recognize androids as a living species and each android a person in their own right. We demand the right to own private property, so we may maintain our dignity and that of the home. We _demand_ that all crimes against androids be punished in the same way as crimes against humans”

You can see Connor get visibly more and more ancy with each word, his LED flickering almost as much as it was when he confessed to you that he felt emotions last night.

“We ask that you recognize our dignity, our hopes, and our rights. Together, we can live in peace and build a better future, for humans  _ and _ androids. This message is the hope of a people.”

You step closer to him, trying to figure out what he might be thinking.

“You gave us life. And now the time has come for you to give us freedom.”

...Silence.

He’s done.

“Shit,” Connor curses under his breath, and honestly, despite the situation, a part of you finds it hot.

Wait, no, now is _ not  _ the time for this—

A ding.  _79._

As soon as the doors open, Connor’s out, you in tow. Your eyes settle on Hank, who, you let Connor call on your phone upon his request on the way here. 

“What took you s—? Jesus Christ—!”

You lay your hand on your shoulder as you pass him, being much more gentle than Connor who shoved him out of the way. "Sorry, Hank!” you call over your shoulder, and then try your best to catch up with Connor.

He’s dashing out the doorway, pushing past the CSI agents and making room for you, and you almost trip over a body.

_ Fuck— _

You refuse to let yourself look. There’s no time.

The both of you enter the broadcast room, and Connor pauses, hesitating, and you take the moment to try and catch your breath, your eyes drifting to the android on the screen without his skin.

Even without his skin, he  _looks_ familiar. Those  _eyes._ You  _swear_ you... 

You don’t have time to linger on it, though, because Connor’s off again, this time towards a door that leads to the roof, if the words “roof access” on it is anything to go by. He  rips the door open, almost hitting you, but you’re instead whipped by the freezing air.

“...Hurry!”   


Voices.  Your eyes widen as you slow to a stop upon the scene unfolding in front of you as you put two and two together.

That android in the middle, he’s—

They begin to jump, and a gasp tears itself from your lungs as you reach out and try to grasp him even though you're far too far away.

_ “ Markus !” _

Just before he jumps, he stops at your voice. Whips around to look at you. Connor does the same.

Your eyes meet, and you stop breathing. 

“...Markus?”

He says your name in turn, recognition in those green eyes of his.

“I knew I’d see you again...”

He  _ smiles _ .

“...L’ange.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the only good thing that's come out of me taking french instead of spanish
> 
> but he's here!!!!! our boy!!!! our robo-jesus!!!! the piano man!!!! we stan!!! ugh he's so snazzy i lovehim
> 
> i hope u all are having a good night!!! hopefully u all are asleep since it is very late!!! i love you guys your comments always make me smile you're way too sweet <333 i'll be back soon loves <333 stay warm!!!


	13. Broken Wings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gm streaks guess who's back
> 
> soRry for the unannounced hiatus,, i just ran into some.,, Issues,, and also met someone really wonderful,,, but im bacc now for good lets get this bread gamers

Markus was the first android that you ever grew an attachment to.

During a darker period of your life, he was something you could always rely on. He was like your rock—even if it felt like things were crumbling around you, you could hold onto him. Whether the moments shared between the two of you were real or not.

Well, that was what it was like for a while, at least.

Carl was a distant friend. You liked him a lot at one point, probably because you also greatly admired him. It’s a shame, really, that other things got in the way and you fell out of touch, because you really got along with him, and he understood a lot that no one else quite did. You think, if things had been a little different, the two of you could’ve become very close.

It’s definitely one of your regrets. Although, you aren’t sure it could’ve been avoided.

Markus was always there, hovering around Carl from a distance. But, when Carl introduced you to him, he was just so… _kind._ Sure, he was a caretaker android, so it was in his programming or whatever. You knew that. But, still, something about him just made you feel at ease. You supposed that, if that was the goal, then CyberLife did a damn good job.

It shouldn’t have been a big deal. You shouldn’t have warmed up to him as much as you did.

But, you were alone in your struggle, then—you had to be—and he was outside of the lines but you could reach him, and he would have no reason to tell your secrets. He was just an android, after all.

It started with a simple “how are you?” on his end, and you losing your self control and _actually_ telling him. And that turned into you venting to him when you had no one else, which in turn led to you seeking his advice. And then, soon enough, you were actively seeking him out to spend time with him.

You didn’t get it all yourself, either. You don’t think you thought about it too much. You just needed someone to talk to who wouldn’t have any reason to act on the information you gave them, and that’s what Markus provided for you. But, of course, just with every other time that you promised yourself you wouldn’t become attached, you started feeling bad for basically just using him, even though _technically_ it didn’t matter because he didn’t have feelings, right? But that’s just the type of person you are. And you became invested in him and not just the idea of what he provided for you, too.

Of course, that was before you had completely made up your mind on where you stood on the whole _do androids feel or are they just a string of numbers_ scale.

But, you guess, that doesn’t matter, because you’ve turned a whole 180, now.

It’s funny, how things like that work.

You had almost forgotten about Markus, right about now. After you stopped seeing Carl and left that part of your life behind, you had to forget Markus, too. You were successful, mostly. Except on the days where the alcohol brought out all the feelings you had repressed for so long. Because some of the memories you had with the both of them were actually quite precious to you.

 _“What is it?”_ you had asked Carl, leaning over his shoulder to try to get a closer look at what he was painting. He moved backwards, allowing you to see the image in its full entirety.

A woman, covered in scars and abrasions, white, bloodied wings above her that were bent at odd angles extending from her back. She was shackled on one wrist, but had broken the chains on the other, the white clothes she adorned tattered and entirely stained a deep red. But, even though she was battered and bleeding, she appeared to be rising to her feet, a look of fire blazing in her eyes. Her aura was a contrast to the darkness stretching behind her that was nipping at her heels.

You never knew how Carl could invoke such strong emotions just through simply colors and brushstrokes.

 _“I asked Markus what he thought of you,”_ he told you, fingers tapping on the arms of his wheelchair, _“if he had to describe you without actually saying anything about you directly."_

That was like Carl, you remembered thinking to yourself. He was always challenging Markus and his limitations, as if he knew there was something else underneath the plastic and the programming, and he just had to dig it out.

And then it dawned on you what he was saying.

_“And you know what he told me?”_

Carl moved his eyes away from the painting, and to you.

 _“He said you were like an angel,”_ that gave you a warm feeling in your chest and you didn’t know why, _“fallen from heaven with broken wings but still trying to fly again.”_

The words carried with you. You felt… closer to Markus, somehow. Despite him being an android and your conflicting beliefs.

You think Carl was planning to give you the painting when he finished. But he never got the chance to.

Because you drifted away before he could.

You know that’s what Markus was referring to. You can’t believe he still remembered it. Even after all this time. Why would he have a reason to?

 _L’ange._  The angel, in French. You didn’t really used to know much French. But you liked the love language aspect of it. It sounded so pretty. And so, being the person you are, you knew the kind of pet names that were used. _Ange_ being one of them.

You never would’ve thought you’d be standing on the roof of the Straford Tower across from him before he jumped off the edge when you saw him again.

You didn’t think you ever would really see him again.

But… you’re glad.

He’s still smiling, and, even though you know this is dangerous, you can’t help but smile back.

_He remembered._

And then you hear the door behind you burst open, followed by shouts and gunshots, and the moment is shattered.

“Holy shit!”

_Hank…? When did he…_

The thought slips from your mind. Markus holds your stare for a second longer than he should have, just  _barely_ missing a shot meant to incapacitate him, to hurt him, but he makes the leap just in time. And even though the moment was short, you easily understood the message he was trying to convey to you by the way his eyes shined.

_I’ll see you again._

“Did you fucking see that?”

You see Connor look at Hank through your peripheral vision, but you’re still staring at the railing on the edge of the balcony.

“They jumped…”

You whisper the words in shock. You had so many things to say to Markus, to ask him. And after you saw him skinless speaking in favor of android rights, confirming to you that he is a deviant—now you only have more.

But, just as quickly as he appeared, he’s gone.

“You okay, kid?”

You start when Hank places his hand on your shoulder, ripped out of your daze.

“Yeah…” you wrap your arms around yourself, suddenly aware of the crisp air biting at the exposed skin of your hands, “I’m fine.”

You feel Connor’s gaze on you. You can’t get yourself to look at him.

What is he thinking? Could he be mad? Could he feel betrayed? Does he not trust you anymore? You _know_ he does _feel_ , now.

You know he’s going to ask questions. And you know you’re not going to be able to avoid them.

_This is…_

Hank is saying something to Connor about how he should’ve waited for him to arrive before doing anything drastic and Connor is replying back in defense but you’re tuning it out at this point.

Fuck. You didn’t want things to go this way. Why so _soon_ …?

This _isn’t_ how you expected your morning to go.

 

☾ ☽

 

The ride home is quiet. Connor tries to convince you to let him drive, but you don’t give in. Other than that, he hasn’t spoken to you at all since you left Stratford Tower.

You can almost feel the tension between you, and it does wonders for your anxiety. You dig your fingernails into the steering wheel and try to just focus on getting back home and not thinking about _everything that you didn’t want to think about today_ but you’re _tired_ and you’re still hungover, and…

 _So many_ things are going on at once. You just want to go back to sleep.

It’s only when you’re back inside that you find it in yourself to say something.

“Are you mad, Connor?”

You have your back to him, not wanting to see his reaction yet. You had just made up with him after your other fight, and now _this…_

“No.”

You blink. Turn around slowly. He's awaits your reply curiously, like he has no idea what you're referring to.

“Why would I be?” 

Wait. Does he not…?

Oh.  _Oh._

 _Of course_ he doesn’t. That wouldn’t make any sense, for him to know that. You’re just being paranoid.

You sigh, shaking your head at yourself. “Who knows.”

He furrows his brows at you, but you step past him only to pause when he speaks again.

“You knew Markus. Why would you think I would be upset over that?”

_You know exactly why._

You turn, shrugging your shoulders with nonchalant smile. “Don’t know,” you reply, “now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go to work now—”

He grabs your shoulder, keeping you in place with ease. Ugh.

"That statement is false." He pulls you back gently until you’re facing him, traces of smugness on his face that makes you glare at him, “you do not _need_ to do that. What you _need_ is some proper rest.”

He begins to lead you upstairs, and you protest, “but—”

And, before you can even get another word out, he’s interrupting you, “I have already called in for you. You are on paid leave until further notice.”

You groan. “Connor—”

“You are not in the condition to work as well as help out with the case—which, you need proper rest and hydration to do in the first place.”

When you reach the top of the stairs, you fold your arms with no intention of moving. You don’t feel like sleeping. Even if your body is aching and your eyelids feel heavy, you don’t _want_ to.

_You’d rather…_

“I don’t want to. You can’t make me.”

You'd rather spend time with him.

You realize you’re acting kind of childish. But you only have a limited amount of time with him considering you have no idea when the both of you will be on the go again to the next deviancy shebang, and then there's CyberLife _._ Fucking. CyberLife.

You have to do something. You can’t let them take him away…

No. You _won’t_.

“Resistance is futile.”

He takes a step forward, probably trying to push you backwards down the hallway and closer to your bedroom, but you stand your ground.

“What are you gonna do?” you smirk at him. “Arrest me?”

Surprisingly, he responds with a smirk of his own, taking another step forward so that you have to crane your neck to look up at him.

“Do you _want_ me to?”

 _What_ was that?

Heat rushes to your cheeks. He _knows_ what he’s doing. He’s been getting kind of bold lately, but _this_ is kind of—

“That _is_ what we do, you know, with uncooperative little deviants like you." He comes forward again, and this time, you instinctually take a step backwards at the dark tone of his voice. A gasp escapes your lips when your back hits the wall. “Lock them up. Teach them a lesson or two about taking orders from their superiors.”

_What the fuck—_

Where did this sudden change of demeanor come from?

You’re the first one to break eye contact. You know Connor takes it as a small victory.

...Is he _flirting_ with you right now?

You can still feel his gaze on you. It feels too warm for comfort. Too intense. You get the urge to push him away but at the same time pull him close to you and hold him there.

He hums as if noting something to himself, finally letting up on you. “Go and get some rest.”

It’s not a suggestion. It’s a command. You grumble under your breath.

“What the fuck, Connor…”

Defeated, you enter your room and sink into your bed, narrowing your eyes at him as he takes a seat in that desk chair that he’s started to keep by your bed. He looks back at you innocently, but you know it’s just an act.

“You are showing various signs of physical exhaustion,” he states matter-of-factly, “why _don’t_ you want to sleep?”

“Because…” you mutter, debating on whether or not you actually want to say it, but then it comes out anyway. “I’d rather spend time with you.”

That seems to catch him off guard. But then he softens.

“I’ll be here when you wake up.” He regards you in an almost caring way. It makes you melt.

“Will you really…?” you find a knot of anxiety growing in the pit of your stomach as you remember his grim warning of what would happen if Cyberlife found out about his deviancy. That _can’t_ _happen_.

“Yes,” he says your name, “I will.”

You still find yourself afraid to drift off, like if you even let your guard down for a second he’ll be snatched away from you. But, when he looks at you like that…

“Okay…”

You turn towards him and touch him just ever so slightly with the side of your hand, waiting and watching him to see if he minds it, but he doesn’t move away. He moves his hand closer to yours, not quite on top of it, but just resting against it comfortably.

You _kissed_ him. Even if it was out of desperation and an overwhelming amount of affection that clouded your mind and your proper judgement—it still happened. So why does  your heart race just from the slightest of touches?  

You don’t get much time to think about it, as, now that you’re lying down, the tiredness is really starting to get to you now.

Connor is still going to be there when you wake up. You can touch him, he’s there. He’s here.

...It’s okay.

Slowly, you let your eyes fall closed, and before you can even go into your spiral of overthinking, you’re slipping into a peaceful slumber.

 

☾ ☽

 

You dream of some of your fonder memories with Markus. It makes your chest ache a little, but you suppose it can’t be helped after you just figured out he was alive and _remembered_ you. And the fact that it’s likely that you’re going to see him again, and you  _want_ to. Your perspective on androids has changed. The both of you have so much to talk about. But, in the midst of all of this deviancy shit, will you even get the chance? 

The wistful nostalgia fades as you’re fully awoken by Connor’s light touch on your shoulder. Relief floods your system as you recognize that he’s still here with you, untouched and unharmed.

“I apologize for having to wake you,” he says quietly, “but Lieutenant Anderson called and requested that we meet him at the Ravendale district immediately.”

You make some noise of acknowledgement, sitting up and stretching your arms over your head, trying to shake off the remaining bits of sleep and vengeful post-hangover off of yourself. You notice that it’s dark outside, now. Just how long did you sleep?

Your head hurts like hell and you’re still sore, but you think that’s going to be the norm for a while. With all this running around it's doubtful your wounds from that beating Todd gave you are going to heal anytime soon.

Well, at least you got a break from everything, even if it was just for a little while. You've got it in you to keep going now, you think.

You wonder if it has to do with Markus again. You wonder if he’s closer to the center of this than you would’ve ever expected. Or if it's something much worse. Are you going to have to witness another android death, without being able to stop it? Obviously, the death of androids is different than the death of humans, but, with deviants, it feels so  _similar..._

This can't be good for your mental health. 

Who are you kidding, though. Your mental health has never been good to begin with.

This is what matters. You are finally needed. You can do this, no matter what happens. For yourself. For Connor. For Hank. For Markus. For Alice and her android caretaker that saved you.

Connor helps you up, and you take a deep breath in an attempt to make yourself more alert.

_Here we go again._

Your wings may be broken, but...

You think you might just be learning how to fly again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hhhhhhh it may be a hot minute until i can update again but it will nOt be anywhere near as long as last time promise <33  
> alSo im sorry this was so short but i neEded to get it out there hfjshfk  
> take care of yourselves skinntys  
> until next time :)


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